


Blitz

by crochetaway



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/M, Hermione born same year as Tom, I fudged real history too
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-07-17
Updated: 2019-10-01
Packaged: 2020-06-30 04:16:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 64,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19845391
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/crochetaway/pseuds/crochetaway
Summary: Tom Riddle charms everyone, but he hates Hermione Granger because she's a bossy, know-it-all; until she does something impossible and Tom is desperate to know how she did it... because he can do impossible things too. As a Muggle war rages outside of Britains' borders, Tom and Hermione attend Hogwarts and navigate the wizarding world and it's xenophobic politics the best way they know how. When Grindelwald's rise threatens to overshadow them all, what will Tom and Hermione do to survive? And will they change the fabric of the wizarding world while they do it? Complete!





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * In response to a prompt by Anonymous in the [tkmbigbang2k19](https://archiveofourown.org/collections/tkmbigbang2k19) collection. 



> **Many thanks to the invaluable infallible angel for her alpha/beta skills. I couldn't have done this without you. Also thanks to brownlark42 who listened to me talk out every plot point this story had. You truly are the best of the best. Additional thanks to Tomione Kink Meme for hosting this! So much fun and a great challenge to write a longer story!**
> 
> **A note about the story you are about to read. It is an alternate universe. It is not a time-travel story. Hermione is born in 1926, just like Tom. I've fudged both Harry Potter canon and real-world facts to make this story work. I've also used some canon from the Fantastic Beasts movies, but you need not have watched them to understand anything you read below. Just if you have, you might recognize some pieces.**
> 
> **Finally, if you liked this story, a review goes a long way. Enjoy!**

_blitz - a sudden, energetic, and concerted effort, typically on a specific task_

* * *

_April 1938_

_Wool’s Orphanage_

_Central London, England_

* * *

Tom Riddle frowned at Mrs Cole as she bustled them all into the hall where they ate their meals. It was unusual for them to gather at this time of day. Lunch had been over for an hour and a half already and dinner wasn’t for another two. Tom pushed Benny Sanderson out of his way so he could stand in the front of the crowd. Benny ought to have known better, Tom was in charge at Wool’s. Even the older kids deferred to him most of the time, and Tom preferred it that way. What he didn’t like, was that the routine was changing. No good could come from this meeting.

“Welcome, children,” Mrs Cole said with her simpering smile. If there was one person on this earth that Tom hated the most, it was Mrs Cole. She simpered incessantly. And she didn’t like Tom. The other adults at the orphanage at least had the decency to fall for Tom’s charm and manipulation, but not Mrs Cole. It was vexing, to say the least. Someone shoved him from behind, and it was probably an accident, but that didn’t stop Tom from throwing a sharp elbow backward. The grunt he heard in return almost made him smile. Almost.

Having witnessed the slight scuffle, Mrs Cole glared at him, making Tom scowl. He narrowed his eyes when he spotted a girl about his age hiding behind Mrs Cole. So this was why they had been called here. Their numbers were growing. Another child to compete with for adoption. Girls were adopted at a far faster rate than boys and though Tom’s eleven-year-old heart was hardened, he still felt it sink a little knowing he was even further from adoption than just an hour ago. They had another open house that weekend, and Tom decided right then that he would just hide in his room for it. No use standing in a neat little line while the adults hemmed and hawed and inevitably ignored him.

“I’d like to introduce you all to Hermione Granger. Her parents have just passed so she’s going to stay with us for a little while,” Mrs Cole said, thrusting the girl in front of her. Tom swept his gaze over her, she wasn’t very adoptable after all. Her face was rather plain and her hair was big, bushy, and a muddy brown color. He noticed her teeth were bucked when she smiled and there was a smattering of freckles across her face. Tom was much better looking, which meant he was far more adoptable even as a boy. He smirked at her. Just another minion to add to his growing pool. She noticed him smirking at her and smiled shyly, giving him a small wave. Oh, she was going to be too easy to manipulate. Tom almost couldn’t wait.

It wasn’t until they were in class the following day that Tom realized that the new girl, was going to be a little more work to get under his thumb. She was a know-it-all. Raising her hand for every question Miss Eddy asked, _and_ getting all of the answers right. That didn’t sit well with Tom. He was supposed to be the brightest child at Wool’s. He couldn’t have that position usurped by a girl. Especially, a _marshmallow_ like her who actually lived with her parents until she was eleven. Tom hated _marshmallows_. They would come in, all bright and cheerful, hoping to get adopted but Tom knew better. If you weren’t a baby or a toddler, the likelihood that you would get adopted dropped exponentially. It would just be up to Tom to teach her the way of Wool’s.

“Out of the way, Benny,” Tom sneered at a younger boy, pushing him aside so he could sit next to Hermione.

“Oi! You shouldn’t bully the younger children,” Hermione scolded him. Her eyes were narrowed and she was frowning. Tom disliked her frowning more than her smiling at him. It was an odd feeling to be sure and he wasn’t quite sure _why_ he was feeling that way.

“Mind your own business, _marshmallow_ ,” Tom taunted. He watched as her eyes flickered, first with anger and then confusion as she tried to process the insult.

“Because you are soft,” Tom snapped. “Did you think you would be adopted? An ugly thing like you? No, they’ll pass you over just as they pass over anyone older than three. You have hopes, don’t you? Of impressing some gullible couple into taking you on? Even if you are adopted out, it would be as a nursemaid to their actual children.”

Tom was pleased when Hermione’s lips trembled and her eyes grew wet.

“Now, let’s make one thing clear. I _run_ Wool’s Orphanage. Even the older kids listen to me. You’d do best to remember that,” he muttered and shoved her down off of the bench so she landed on her bum. Tom stood up over her and smirked down at her nastily, “Welcome to Wool’s, _marshmallow_.”

Tom stalked away, not bothering to eat lunch that day. He probably should have, as he was extra hungry at dinner, but he thought it ruined the look if he had stayed and eaten at another table.

Hermione was in his face again just two days later.

“You can’t, Tom! It’s cruel! And mean!” she shouted. “He’s three years younger than you! He doesn’t understand.”

“No, _you_ don’t understand,” Tom hissed. “But you will.” He was already planning his revenge on her and it would be sweet. Hermione wouldn’t see what was coming and Miss Eddy would take his side just like usual. All Tom had to do was set it up.

It was three days after their last argument that Tom’s revenge finally took place. He needed time to set it up and time for Hermione to have forgotten about the argument. He had avoided her since then, especially in Miss Eddy’s class. He hated that she answered every question, her hand always in the air, waving about.

Tom had been concentrating all through Miss Eddy’s class and halfway through _it_ finally happened. Hermione’s bushy hair which she had neatly plaited into twin braids began flapping around her head. At first, she looked confused and then concerned as she tried and failed to get them to stop moving.

Tom snorted at her efforts to keep her hair down as she grew more desperate and looked appalled. It was useless, Tom knew without a doubt that it wouldn’t stop until he wanted it to. A large thump suddenly interrupted her struggle, startling her. Jimmy, who was sitting in front of her had been pushed clean over his desk and deposited on the floor.

“Miss Granger! What is going on here?” Miss Eddy shouted from the front of the room looking up at the ruckus and noticing Hermione’s struggle. Tom covered his mouth to keep his smile from showing as he released the hold he had on Hermione’s hair.

“I—It wasn’t me!” Hermione said, looking around the classroom wildly. Everyone else just stared at her, but she must have caught a look on Tom’s face because she glared at him. He couldn’t help his smirk.

“It was, Miss Eddy,” Tom said, guilelessly. “I saw her do it.” He gave her his ‘getting out of trouble’ smile and, nodding sharply she turned back to Hermione.

“You’ll have to go to see Mrs Cole, Miss Granger. Come on now,” she strode down the aisle way and pulled Hermione from her seat.

“But I didn’t _do_ anything!” Hermione protested, trying to pull her arm from Miss Eddy’s grip.

“That will be enough of that,” Miss Eddy said swiftly, yanking on Hermione’s arm until she almost stumbled and fell. Hermione grumbled as Miss Eddy practically dragged her from the room, and she shot another glare over her shoulder at Tom just as she was pulled through the doorway. Tom’s smirk widened at her look. He hoped she finally learnt her lesson, no one defied Tom Riddle and got away with it.

* * *

That evening, Tom was lying on his bed rereading his favorite book. The orphanage didn’t get many books and Tom had read them all. He was engrossed and didn’t hear his door opening.

“I didn’t do it!” Hermione hissed, standing over him. He set the book down on his chest and glared up at her.

“Doesn’t matter if you did it or not. Miss Eddy believed me. They always believe me. It’s about time you learned that. I did try to warn you.”

He could see her face reddening, her lips moved as though she wanted to say something but was too overworked to get it out.

“You’re just a dumb sneaky snake, Tom Riddle!” she finally screamed and stomped her foot at the same time.

The pillow that had been cradling Tom’s head changed at her pronouncement. It almost disappeared entirely.

“ _She’s not wrong you know_ ,” a voice hissed and Tom sat up slowly. He stared between Hermione and the snake in place of his pillow. It was a small barred grass snake. He hadn’t done that.

“Did you do that?” Tom asked. He felt stupid for asking the question, but judging from the horrified look on Hermione’s face, this wasn’t the first time something like this happened to her. “Have you done something like this before?” Tom asked, suddenly fascinated with her.

She nodded her head slowly. Tom picked the snake up and she wound around his wrist, hissing softly.

“ _The girl has power. I can smell it._ ”

“It’s a good thing I like snakes,” Tom smiled at her.

“I didn’t mean to,” Hermione said. “I’ve never...usually, it’s just...how did that happen? I made a snake?”

“I can do things too,” Tom said. Hermione’s eyes lifted from staring at the snake wound around his wrist to his.

“What kind of things?” she whispered.

“Making someone’s braids move. Pushing someone head over heels out of a desk.”

Hermione’s eyes narrowed at him. “So it was you. Earlier today in Miss Eddy’s class.”

Tom smirked at her. “Yes. It was. But now—”

Hermione slapped him across the face, shocking Tom.

“ _See...power_ …” the snake hissed.

“Don’t you ever do _anything_ like that to me again, Tom Riddle. I take my schoolwork _very_ seriously and I won’t have you interfering with that.”

Tom glared at her and grabbed her wrist in an almost death grip. She winced but held her ground.

“You listen to me, Hermione Granger. I run this orphanage and the sooner you understand that and fall in line, the better for everyone involved. Unlike you, I seem to have some control over the power I wield. You’ll listen to me or—”

She slapped him with her other hand. When he tried to stand up, she shoved him back onto the bed.

“Stay out of my way, and I’ll stay out of yours,” she hissed and stormed from the room.

“ _You should befriend her, not fight her_ ,” the snake said.

“Shut up,” Tom muttered as he stared darkly after her.

* * *

_May 1938_

_Wool’s Orphanage_

_Central London, England_

* * *

Tom quickly became fascinated with Hermione after the snake incident. The snake had lasted almost two whole days before turning back into his pillow. Tom had never changed something into something else before and he immediately started trying to do it at any free moment he had. And now, three weeks later, he still hadn’t accomplished it. He found himself watching Hermione when they were in class or eating. She routinely ignored him, which, had she not had the same sort of powers Tom did, he would have been fine with. But the fact that she was like him, that she wasn’t ordinary like the others, gnawed at him. He wanted to know her.

It was with that thought in mind that he sat next to her at lunch one day.

“What do you want?” she asked quietly as she paged through a book.

“To be friends,” Tom decided the straightforward approach would probably work the best with her.

She snorted and continued to ignore him.

“Look, I’m sorry,” Tom said. He didn’t apologize often, but he felt that in this case, it might get her to talk to him. “I’m used to things being a certain way around here. I didn’t like you telling me what to do, so I’m sorry for getting you in trouble with Miss Eddy.”

That got her to look up at him. She assessed him with her warm, brown eyes and Tom noticed for the first time that there were flecks of gold in her eyes.

“Why do you want to be friends?” she asked finally.

“Because we can do the same things. We both have power that other people don’t have. Don’t you think that’s special? That it makes _us_ special?”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “Even if it does make us special, we’re still all people. I’ll be your friend, but you have to promise to be nicer to everyone.”

Tom shook his head. “I can’t do that. It would totally ruin my reputation! No, you should be my friend because we’re the same.”

“We’re not the same,” she sneered at him. “I’m nice, and kind, and help others. You are mean and a bully. I don’t want to be anything like you!”

“Fine,” Tom snapped, gritting his teeth.

He stormed away from her and directly to Amy Benson. She was the queen bee of the girls and as long as she stayed out of Tom’s way, he let her run the girls as she saw fit.

“Tom,” Amy nodded cooly to him. She was two years older and had hit her growth spurt already so she towered over Tom.

“I need a favor,” Tom said in greeting.

“To do with Hermione?”

Tom narrowed his eyes. It irked him that his interest in Hermione hadn’t gone unnoticed. “Yes,” he hissed.

“It’ll cost you,” Amy said, looking at her fingernails.

“What do you want?” Tom asked.

“Dennis Bishop.” Tom’s eyes cut towards where Dennis, also two years older than Tom, stood laughing with a group of boys.

“What about him?”

“He’s getting handsy. I need him to back off me and the other girls. I expect you can threaten him appropriately.”

“Consider it done,” Tom murmured. Amy trotted away as Tom kept his eyes on Dennis and the way Dennis’s eyes moved to Amy’s rear-end.

* * *

_July 1938_

_Wool’s Orphanage_

_Central London, England_

* * *

Hermione scribbled furiously in her journal. It had become her coping mechanism since her parents were killed a few short months ago. It seemed like a lifetime ago now though. Now that she wasn’t with Aunt Abby anymore, she couldn’t pretend that they were just on a trip. Her father was a dentist, and he and her mother went to Germany to go to a conference and they never came back. Aunt Abby told her that they had run into some bad people, but the newspaper called it a brown-shirt attack. Hermione didn’t know what a brown-shirt was, but if she ever saw one, she vowed she would do everything in her power to hurt him.

It wasn’t fair. Hermione had a wonderful childhood, until then. She hated her Aunt Abby almost as much as she hated the brown-shirts. If only Aunt Abby could have kept her. Hermione suspected that Aunt Abby was so enthusiastic about getting rid of her because she drove Aunt Abby quite insane with all of her questions.

The orphanage wasn’t bad, at first. She had a run-in with the local bully, Tom Riddle, and even after they discovered that they could both do _something_ that Hermione couldn’t explain, she didn’t necessarily think that made them friends. But it wasn’t until later that things had gotten bad at the orphanage. Before Tom had discovered her secret, a secret that even Aunt Abby didn’t know about, the rest of the girls at the orphanage had been moderately kind. Now they wouldn’t even talk to her. Nobody talked to her. She was just grateful for the extra notebook she used as her journal. It at least was a little bit of an outlet for her.

“Hermione,” Tom drawled from above her. She ignored him. She had her back to the one tree in the paved courtyard of the orphanage. It was too hot to be inside, which was normally where she spent her free time.

Tom settled next to her and attempted to peer over her shoulder to see what she was writing, so she slapped her hands over her notebook and glared at him.

She flipped her notebook shut and tucked her pencil away. When he didn’t say anything, she made to stand, but he gripped her arm to stop her. It wasn’t tight, but the feeling of his skin on hers nearly made her gasp. His grip was firm and a small part of her wanted to stay there, with his hand around hers. How long had it been since anyone touched her? Even the smallest contact felt like a jolt.

train

“Hermione,” Tom said again, she glanced up at him, but remained silent. “I can make them stop.”

Hermione bit her lip, she didn’t want to give in. She knew that this was some stupid manipulation tactic from Tom, but for a moment, the thought of being friends with the girls she lived with sounded lovely. To have someone to talk to.

“All you have to do is be friends with me,” Tom grinned at her.

Hermione narrowed her eyes and ripped her hand from his. Then she stood and stormed off. Who cared if it was too hot inside, at least Tom Riddle wouldn’t be there.

* * *

A week later, they were on a field trip to the beach at Dover. Hermione had been before, but many of the other children hadn’t and she was so excited to see the ocean again. The train trip had taken half the morning, but it was a lovely day and the sun was shining brightly by the time they arrived. They had sandwiches and were given run of the beach. Hermione decided that she would see how many different types of seashells she could collect and then maybe spend a few minutes with her journal. She had just picked up a pretty light pink spiral shell when Tom found her again.

“Hermione,” he greeted with a nod. She glared up at him, but then went back to her shell. Maybe she could try sketching it in her journal? She needed a distraction from Tom Riddle. Despite the fact that she knew that he was manipulating her in keeping all of the other children away from her, there was something about him she found fascinating.

She tried to tell herself that it wasn’t because he was like her. He wasn’t like her at all. Not in any of the ways it really mattered. But he could do some of the same things she could, she’d seen him levitate a book last month to scare Miss Eddy. So she knew he had some of the same powers she did, what surprised her was the fact that he seemed to have some sort of control over them. Hermione didn’t feel like she could control hers at all. Even when she’d turned Tom’s pillow into a snake, she didn’t know how she had done it. It had just _happened_.

She was engrossed in sketching her shell when it suddenly felt too quiet. She surveyed the rest of the beach and noticed that Tom wasn’t anywhere on the beach and neither were Dennis Bishop or Amy Benson. What could they be doing? Hermione’s curiosity won out and she stood to go look for them.

As she set off, a bad feeling bloomed in her stomach. It almost made her turn back to her seashell finding, but Hermione was determined to find out what sort of blackmail material Tom had on them. She was quite sure it had to be something good. She wandered the beach, looking for the three other children, but when she didn’t find them, she decided that they must be near the caves in the cliff wall. Mrs Cole had warned them away from the caves, but Tom wasn’t much for following rules. When Mrs Cole’s back was turned, Hermione darted toward the cliffs and began peering into the caves. Most were little more than small rooms, big enough for a person or two to stand in, but the third one she came across was larger. And she could hear voices.

She ventured inside and it soon became almost too dark to see, but there was a flickering ahead indicating that someone had lit a torch. For a brief moment, Hermione wondered if maybe she had stumbled onto a criminal hideout, but then she heard the screeching laughter of Amy Benson and was relieved even though the laughter sounded decidedly cruel.

After several long moments, winding through the cave, Hermione stumbled upon Dennis Bishop writhing on the ground, clearly in quite a bit of pain. Hermione could barely hear his whimpers over Amy’s delighted cackling while Tom looked downright menacing.

“There’s more where that came from, Dennis,” Tom said. “Stay away from the girls. Be sure to warn the rest of the boys.”

“I’m not afraid of you,” Dennis muttered as he slowly climbed to his feet. “You got a sucker punch in, but I’m still bigger than you Tom!”

Tom laughed. It was high and cold and made Hermione shiver. “Dennis, I can do so much worse than kick you where it hurts most. But I won’t. I’ll wait for you to truly fuck up.”

“Tom,” Amy said, the warning clear in her voice. “The deal was that you got him to stop for good. Not just for a while.”

“Would you rather I hold him down and make a eunuch of him?” Tom suggested.

“If it would get him to stop putting his hands where they don’t belong, then yes!” Amy insisted.

The conversation didn’t make much sense to Hermione. If Dennis wasn’t keeping his hands to himself, why didn’t Amy and the other girls go to Mrs Cole? Surely, she would do something about it, wouldn’t she?

“What’s going on here?” Hermione asked stepping forward. Amy groaned, Dennis ignored her, and Tom glared.

“It doesn’t concern you, Granger,” Amy said. “Go away.”

“If Dennis is being a bully, we should tell Mrs Cole. But right now, it looks like Tom is being the bully,” Hermione insisted.

Tom sighed and moved around Dennis and Amy to Hermione’s side. “Can you just let me handle this, please?” he asked quietly.

“I want to know what the problem is,” Hermione insisted stubbornly. “Why won’t you go to Mrs Cole?”

“Because Mrs Cole will think I’m being a slut,” Amy hissed. “Dennis gets a free pass because, in this world, it’s a girls job to tell a boy no. It’s a boys job to do everything he can to get what he wants, including, lying, and using force. Do you understand?”

Dennis tried to squeeze by Amy, but she shoved him hard and he fell onto his bum on the rocky ground.

“Like sex?” Hermione asked disgustedly. Her mum had brought up sex once when telling her about her period, but Hermione had put it out of her mind as something too gross to contemplate then.

Amy laughed cruelly. “Yes, like sex. It’s time you learn this lesson, Granger. Adults don’t believe girls. Women don’t believe women and men definitely don’t believe women. The best way you can find to protect yourself is to find a man who won’t hurt you and if you’re lucky, he’ll believe you, but don’t count on that.”

“You’re only thirteen!” Hermione said. “You’re just a child, why are you worrying about this now?”

“Thirteen’s old enough,” Tom muttered. “I know you’re a _marshmallow_ , but life’s different in the orphanage. Making it to fourteen as a girl without one of the older boys wanting a shag is damn near impossible.”

“What?” Hermione was taken aback, but Amy confirmed it with a nod. Dennis was crawling toward the cave entrance now, but this time it was Tom who kicked him in the stomach, hard. He rolled over onto his back with a groan.

“Mrs Cole looks the other way and if the girls complain, they get punished and thrown out as whores.”

“Jesus,” Hermione muttered. “That’s not right.”

“It’s not. It’s what Tom is going to put a stop to, right?”

“Fine,” Tom sighed. “I can try something new. Something I’ve been working on.”

Amy narrowed her eyes. “Do it.”

Hermione bit her lip as Tom closed his eyes. She kept a sharp eye on Dennis, who kept an equally sharp eye on Tom as Tom began to hiss.

Suddenly, Dennis was screaming at the top of his lungs, rolling around on the ground. His muscles seemed to clench and release like he was having a seizure.

“What is happening to him?” Hermione asked in a high, panicked voice. She started to step forward to reach him, but Tom, still hissing, snatched her arm and pulled her to a stop. Amy just looked on either in awe or fear, Hermione wasn’t sure which. After what seemed like hours, Tom dropped to his knees and fell silent. Dennis too fell silent, staring up at the cave ceiling with glassy eyes. Hermione knelt down next to Tom who was panting and sweating.

“Are you alright?” she asked him, holding her hand up to his forehead. It seemed curiously cool to the touch and she wiped the sweat away.

“Holy smokes, Tom,” Amy breathed as she walked closer to the still-prone Dennis. “What did you do to him?”

Tom shook his head, not looking at Amy, but looking at Hermione instead. “See what we can do. It’s powerful.”

Hermione looked into his dark, blue eyes. She shivered. She had felt the power he had put out while he was hurting Dennis and it was awesome, in every sense of the word. Hermione didn’t want to hurt people, but the idea of being able to command that much power was intoxicating.

“Can you teach me?” she whispered.

Tom’s smile was slow as it stretched across his face. It was the first smile Hermione had ever seen from him that reached his eyes. They crinkled just a little at the corner and she quite liked the look of him when he smiled like that.

* * *

_August 1938_

_Wool’s Orphanage_

_Central London, England_

* * *

“Tom! Hermione! Visitor!” Mrs Cole shouted up the main staircase on a humid morning in August. Since the day at the beach, Tom and Hermione had become fast friends. Hermione was sick of being lonely and if Tom was going to be her only option, then she would try to live with it. He was manipulative and controlling, but he was also very bright and knew almost as much as Hermione did about everything. And he was also much better at controlling his abilities than Hermione was, having spent years trying to practice and hone his skill.

Hermione looked at Tom with confusion. “Who on earth would be visiting us?”

Tom shrugged. “No clue. Maybe someone wants to adopt us?” He bumped his shoulder into hers, urging her to stand. She did so and led the way out of the classroom they had been studying in, toward the stairs.

“Adopt us without even meeting us? Unlikely,” Hermione snorted as they descended the stairs toward Mrs Cole’s office.

The man sitting in Mrs Cole’s office was startling. He had on an entirely maroon suit. Hermione giggled at the sight of him but straightened her face at Mrs Cole’s glare.

“Thank you, Mrs Cole. I would like to talk to the children alone if I could?” the man said, his blue eyes twinkling.

“Of course, Professor, of course,” Mrs Cole said cheerier than usual.

“Tom Riddle and Hermione Granger,” the man said. He had the longest beard Hermione had ever seen, it went halfway down his chest and his hair was equally long and equally grey.

“Who are you?” Tom asked, a little rudely, Hermione thought.

“Professor Albus Dumbledore. I teach at a special school. A school you both have been invited to attend.”

Hermione’s eyes lit up and she turned to Tom in her excitement. “Like a boarding school?” Hermione asked.

Professor Dumbledore nodded. “Just so. Although, it’s not like most boarding schools. We don’t teach much in the way of reading or arithmetic.”

“What _do_ you teach?” Tom asked suspiciously.

“Magic,” Professor Dumbledore said with a grin.

“Like _what_?” Tom asked. Hermione had the same question so she was eager to hear Professor Dumbledore’s answer.

“Magic has many forms. I specialize in Transfiguration, which is turning one thing into something else.” Professor Dumbledore took out a long, skinny stick. There were carvings all along it and Hermione had never seen anything like it. He pointed it at a teacup on Mrs Cole’s desk and with a flick and a flash of blue light, the teacup turned into a rat. It ran around the desk a few times before Dumbledore turned it back into an ordinary teacup.

“That’s incredible,” Hermione breathed. “And we’d learn to do that at this school?”

“You already did that,” Tom muttered. “Turned my pillow into a snake, remember?”

“I know,” Hermione said, “but I can’t control it, I don’t have one of those stick things. I’m guessing those help focus the magic we already possess?”

Professor Dumbledore looked pleased with her questions. “Yes, a wand will help you to focus your magic, and you will learn how to turn teacups into rats, but not until your fourth year.”

“And how many years is this school?” Hermione asked.

“All the way through secondary school,” Professor Dumbledore said. “There is an entire wizarding community that lives alongside the Muggle one. Muggles are what we call people who don’t have magic. We would call you two Muggle-borns, as being people who were born from people who didn’t have magic.”

“I don’t know who my parents are. One of them could have been like you,” Tom said.

“A witch or a wizard,” Dumbledore nodded. “It’s possible, in which case you would probably be a half-blood. Most of the wizarding population is comprised of half-bloods. Muggle-borns are somewhat rare.”

“If there are half-bloods than are their full-bloods?” Hermione asked.

“We call them pure-bloods,” Dumbledore replied. “And yes, pure-bloods make up about a third of the wizarding population.”

“If there’s a whole society, does that mean there are jobs after school?” Tom asked.

Dumbledore nodded. “Jobs, neighborhoods, houses, hospitals, a government. It’s exactly like Muggle society, only smaller. And hidden. That’s very important that the wizarding society stay hidden from the Muggles.”

“Why?” Hermione asked.

“It wasn’t often, but occasionally the witch trials of the fifteenth through seventeenth centuries would actually catch a witch. The International Statute of Wizarding Secrecy has been in place since 1692, safe-guarding the wizarding world from the Muggle one. We may still live and work among Muggles, but we keep our wizarding side a secret from them for the most part.”

“What if my parents hadn’t died?” Hermione asked. “Would I have had to keep it a secret from them?”

Dumbledore laughed. “No, in that case, this visit would have happened to your home and I would have spoken to your parents directly. Because of the situation you are in at the orphanage, I felt it better to keep Mrs Cole in the dark.”

“So if there’s a school, do we get books and things?” Tom asked. “What about wands? How do we get those? We don’t have any money.”

“The school, Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry, has a fund set aside for students in need. I can take you to Diagon Alley now. It’s located off Charing Cross Road in Covent Garden,” Dumbledore said. “There we will get your books for the year, robes, wands, everything you’ll need to succeed at Hogwarts.”

Tom looked at the professor skeptically. “And you’ll buy us all this stuff. Just like that?”

Hermione was too excited to question the details. Magic! She was a witch and soon she would have a wand and new books to study, she couldn’t wait.

“Yes,” Dumbledore nodded. “It’ll come out of the account at Hogwarts. Come, I’ll take you there myself.”

Tom still looked skeptical, but Hermione was ready. She stood and grasped Tom’s arm tightly as Dumbledore held out his hand. The moment she touched Dumbledore’s hand he whisked them away. It felt as if her entire body had been pulled through a straw and spat back out again. She would have stumbled when they landed if Tom hadn’t caught hold of her waist. She found they were standing in front of an old record store.

“Sorry about that. Side-Along Apparition isn’t always the smoothest ride,” Dumbledore said, not sounding sorry at all. “Come along.” He directed them to a pub called the Leaky Cauldron that Hermione was sure hadn’t been there a moment ago. “Muggles often have trouble seeing it,” Dumbledore explained as he held the door open for them.

The pub was full of people dressed in the most outlandish colors and garb. They all wore long robes like a priest often did but in bright colors and patterns. And most of them were wearing tall, pointed hats upon their heads.

“This way.” Dumbledore guided them through the pub and to a small enclosed courtyard outback. “Here we are. Tap this brick with your wand,” Dumbledore said, tapping a brick three up and two across from the dustbin in the enclosed courtyard. The brick wall began rearranging itself into an archway and Hermione was shocked to see an entire shopping district appear. There were restaurants, shops, vendors in the street. Owls were flying overhead.

“Oh, and I almost forgot,” Dumbledore said and pulled two envelopes free from his robes, handing one each to Hermione and Tom. “These are your acceptance letters to Hogwarts along with your supplies list. Let’s get your wands first.”

* * *

It was hours later when she, Tom, and Dumbledore were finished in Diagon Alley. Dumbledore had bought them each a trunk to pack all of their things in for school and gave them instructions on how to get to the Hogwarts Express on September first. Hermione was overwhelmed as she fingered her wand. Dumbledore had warned them about performing magic outside of school, but Hermione was itching to try one of the many spells. They had each gotten eight new books, new robes to wear to school, potions supplies, and a cauldron. It was all so exciting and Hermione found herself talking to Tom a mile a minute about it.

“You don’t think it’s all some big prank?” Tom finally asked. They had put their trunks away in their rooms and given Mrs Cole the rundown on their new boarding school. Now they were sitting in Tom’s room because he didn’t share with anyone else.

“What? Hogwarts? No, it can’t be,” Hermione shook her head vehemently. “Who would have spent that amount of money for a prank?”

“No, I mean the whole thing. Magic, wizards, witches, that Diagon Alley place. Doesn’t it all seem like… too easy of an explanation?”

Hermione shook her head again. “How in the world would Dumbledore have done the thing with the bricks if not for magic? Or levitating our trunks for us? Or shrinking them for that matter? No way. It’s definitely real.” She paused for a moment, and then reached out and grabbed Tom’s hand. She had a feeling that Tom hadn’t ever had much good happen in his life. “Tom, this is such an incredible opportunity for both of us. This is a good thing. And it’s real. Let yourself believe it.” She smiled encouragingly at him.

Tom sighed heavily and nodded, tightening his fingers around hers for a moment before pulling away. “I just can’t help but feel as if it’s all going to come crashing down someday.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Many thanks to the fabulous infallible angel for her alpha/beta skills.**
> 
> **If you love this (or hate it) please let me know about in a review! Find me on Tumblr at crochetawayhpff. Enjoy!**

_blitz - to charge directly_

* * *

_September 1938_

_Wool’s Orphanage_

_Central London, England_

* * *

Mrs Cole informed Tom and Hermione that the orphanage had no money to spend on getting a taxicab to King’s Cross on the first of September. There was a London Underground station half a mile from the orphanage, the Kennington station. It was only seven pence a ride, but even that was more money than either of them had. And truly, they would need twenty-eight pence total to get them both to King’s Cross in September and home from it in June. The wizarding world had an entirely different monetary system and Tom felt quite sure that there wouldn’t be an opportunity to work for money at all during the school year.

So the moment that Mrs Cole had mentioned they couldn’t pay for a taxicab to King’s Cross, Tom decided that he and Hermione would have to pay for the Underground ticket themselves. Tom searched the neighborhood surrounding the orphanage high and low for cans and bottles to recycle. That was enough to get them the fare, but Tom decided that just having twenty-eight pence wasn’t enough. In fact, he hated relying on the charity of the school. There were so many things he’d seen in Diagon Alley that he would love to buy but weren’t on the approved list for the school. He started helping at the grocers on the corner, sweeping the sidewalks and bagging groceries, even helping neighbors carry groceries home. It wasn’t much but by the time they were ready to leave for Hogwarts, Tom had a little over two pounds saved. He buried most of the money at the bottom of his trunk and only kept what he and Hermione would need for the train to King’s Cross.

Half a mile wasn’t far, but lugging two heavy trunks behind them made for slow going. Worse, it was hot. Mrs Cole had made them wear their Sunday best and Tom was sweating through his shirt and his coat as he pulled his trunk behind him.

“Can we rest?” Hermione asked after they had passed the halfway mark. Tom wanted to snap at her, but he held his tongue.

“We can rest on the train, it’s only a few stops to King’s Cross, but it’ll be long enough,” Tom grunted as he pulled his trunk up a curb.

Hermione nodded and didn’t say another word as they made their way down the street. It was mostly residential and they attracted a few looks, but Tom’s scowl was enough to keep any busybodies at bay. Finally, they made it to the Underground station. Tom had been half a dozen times already, looking at the map and figuring out the best way to get to King’s Cross. Not having ever been on the train, Tom was still a little nervous that something might go wrong, but by now he had the entire map of the Underground memorized. While Hermione waited with their trunks, Tom purchased their tickets from the ticket seller and they descended in the lift to the level where the trains were. Tom had never even been in a lift before, it was all a new experience to him.

“Here we are,” Hermione said as the lift stopped and they both piled out, lugging their trunks behind them. “I’ll be happy when we finally get on the train to Hogwarts,” Hermione said grunting as she pushed her trunk toward the platform. “How soon does the train come?”

“They run every seven minutes,” Tom said. “Then it’s a twenty-minute ride to King’s Cross. When we get to King’s Cross, we’ll have to switch trains. Levels too probably.”

“Yes, we’ll need to go upstairs,” Hermione said with some authority. “I took a train out of King’s Cross last year with my parents. We went up to the Lake District.”

Tom scowled at her and didn’t say anything else as a train whooshed through the tunnel and came to a screeching halt in front of them. Nobody got off the train car in front of them and Tom and Hermione hustled to get both trunks on before the doors shut again. Tom looked around with interest and was pleased when a gruff voice said overhead that they were approaching the Elephant & Castle station. For a brief moment, Tom had a panicky feeling that they had accidentally boarded the wrong train. Relief flooded him as the doors opened at Elephant & Castle.

“How many stops?” Hermione asked.

Tom sighed. They’d discussed it repeatedly, but he found that Hermione had a tendency to repeat important information over and over again. He thought that perhaps it was just to reassure herself.

“Six total, so five more,” Tom said. Hermione nodded.

It wasn’t long before King’s Cross St. Pancras was announced. Tom and Hermione shuffled forward with their trunks and exited the train.

“There,” Hermione said pointing toward the sign for the lifts and she and Tom began trying to fight through the crowd.

“Train leaves in thirty minutes,” Tom grunted as they got in line for the lift.

“We should have time,” Hermione said, biting the side of her lip. Tom noticed she did that when she was nervous too.

“We’ll make it,” Tom said trying to be reassuring.

It was a very near thing. They managed to find platform nine and platform ten rather easily.

“Oh!” Hermione said, pointing to a family. Tom watched as a man dressed in a long black coat slid right through the wall between platforms nine and ten.

“Hidden, like Diagon Alley,” Tom muttered.

“Let’s go,” Hermione said. “We only have five minutes. Did we need a ticket?”

Tom shook his head no. “We have our letters, that will have to suffice,” Tom said as they made their way forward.

“Let’s take it at a run,” Tom said. “I’ll go first.”

Hermione nodded tightly and Tom took a bit of a running start, still dragging his trunk behind him and ran right through the wall. They had seen carts for piling luggage, but Tom had seen they cost thirty pence and that was more than Tom was willing to part with.

Hermione made it through the wall behind him and they hurried to the gleaming red train, steam was pouring from its engine and _Hogwarts Express_ was emblazoned on its side in a burnished copper.

“It’s brilliant,” Hermione breathed. Tom had to agree, it was brilliant. He couldn’t wait until they got to Hogwarts and actually started learning magic. He had always known he was destined for great things and it finally felt like some of those things were starting to happen.

They bumped their trunks up into the train and the moment they were on the train they disappeared.

“Baggage car,” an older boy with sandy hair said upon seeing their surprised faces. “First years?” he asked.

Tom and Hermione both nodded.

“Hermione Granger,” she said brightly sticking out her hand for the other boy.

“Pius Thicknesse,” the boy said, shaking her hand.

Tom also introduced himself to Pius.

“I’m a third year,” Pius said. “Hufflepuff,” he added.

“Oh! That’s one of the houses!” Hermione said. “I read all about them in _Hogwarts: A History_.”

Pius laughed good-naturedly. “Muggleborns then?”

Hermione nodded. “Yes, I am. We’re not sure about Tom though. We live in an orphanage and he’s neve—”

Tom elbowed Hermione then. He smiled tightly at Pius. “Yes, Muggleborns. Is there somewhere special we’re supposed to sit, or?”

Pius shrugged. “You can sit wherever you like. Except for the Prefects car at the front of the train, anything else is open.”

Tom nodded and grabbed Hermione’s elbow as he led the way down the train looking for an empty compartment.

“Tom, why are you mad?” Hermione asked when they finally found one.

“Really? You might get a kick out of bandying about all of your business, but I’d rather be more circumspect than that,” Tom said bitterly. “We’ve had this argument already, _marshmallow_. Don’t make it a theme.”

Hermione looked hurt at the slur and her chin trembled for a moment. Tom thought she might cry, but she didn’t. She sat on the bench across from him and dug _Hogwarts: A History_ out of her knapsack. Tom was still angry, but let her sulk in the corner as the train started and puffed out of the station.

“How long is the trip?” Hermione asked almost an hour into it.

“Dumbledore said Hogwarts was in Scotland, so probably five or six hours,” Tom answered absentmindedly. He was still staring out the window, watching first London and then the countryside go past.

“Are you planning to stay mad at me until we get there?” Hermione asked sharply.

Tom sighed. “‘Suppose not.”

“Good,” Hermione grinned. “What house do you think you’ll be in?”

“Slytherin,” Tom answered immediately. “I can talk to snakes, so it makes sense to put me in that house.”

“Oh,” Hermione said. “I was thinking Gryffindor or Ravenclaw, but I guess Slytherin would be good too. Professor Dumbledore is the head of Gryffindor. I’d kind of like to be in his house.”

Tom raised his eyebrow at her. “What are you talking about?”

“Well, don’t you think we should be in the same house?” Hermione asked. “We don’t know anybody else. We should stick together.”

Tom hadn’t really thought about it before then, but what Hermione was saying made sense. She was the only person he knew and if he judged everyone based on Pius Thicknesse, he would much rather spend his time with Hermione than that dunderhead. He frowned. Would they sort in alphabetical order? That would mean Hermione would be sorted before him. It didn’t say in _Hogwarts: A History_ how the sorting took place. Maybe he would be able to figure out a way to get sorted into the same place as Hermione?

It was full dark by the time the train stopped at Hogwarts, and Tom had decided that he was going to do everything he could to end up in the same house as Hermione.

* * *

_September 1938_

_Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_Hogsmeade, Scotland_

* * *

Hermione couldn’t contain her excitement from the moment the train had pulled into the station in Scotland. Everything was new to her and she wanted to memorize it all. She knew she was annoying Tom, but at the end of the day, she didn’t care. She couldn’t believe he wasn’t as excited as her, or maybe he was and just hid it better? She read more about the houses on the train and really, Tom was a good fit for Slytherin. He was ambitious and cunning. Hermione was ambitious, but she didn’t feel very cunning most of the time. Clever, sure, which is why she thought Ravenclaw might be a good fit for her. But for some reason Gryffindor called to her. And to be in the same house as Professor Dumbledore seemed like it was providence. But at the same time, being separated from Tom was nerve-wracking. He was the only friend she had and despite their rocky start, he’d been a very steady one.

She knew she could make more friends, but she had a feeling that Tom had a harder time making friends than she did. Perhaps, she should try to be put in the same house as him? She puzzled over it the whole way across the lake. The boats ran on magic and it was awe-inspiring to see the huge castle appear in front of them.

“Hogwarts,” breathed a blonde-girl in their boat breathed as it came into sight. “My brother told me this is the best view of the castle.”

It was the first time Hermione had ever seen it, but she had to agree. The castle towered over them and the windows were all lit up, making the whole building practically glow.

“It’s so big,” Hermione whispered, awestruck.

“Almost a thousand students go here,” the girl said. “It has to be big to hold us all.”

A strong breeze rushed by them, making Hermione break out in gooseflesh and her grip on Tom’s arm tightened as the boats made their way to the shore. The castle, which had looked cold and forbidding from a distance, standing on the cold, foggy, Scottish mountainside now felt welcoming as soon as she reached the massive front doors of the castle. Every stone felt entrenched with magic and life, so it wasn’t much of a shock to discover that both the portraits and the suits of armor that lined the corridors of the castle moved.

They were ushered down several smaller hallways before entering a small room, and Hermione heard a cacophony of voices from beyond the door at the opposite end. Everything blurred together into the atmosphere and, feeling it all around her, she took a deep breath. This was going to be home, it had been so long since she allowed herself to use that word. Home, she was _home_.

The magical world was so...well magical. Hermione found herself gaping at every new thing.

“Trying to catch some flies?” Tom asked snidely.

Hermione glared at him. “Why do you have to ruin everything?”

“Why do you have to look like such a rube?” Tom hissed back.

Before Hermione could retort, Professor Dumbledore entered the room from the door where all the noise was coming from.

“Welcome to Hogwarts,” he said kindly. “Soon we will be sorting you into your houses. There are four of them and your house will be like your family while at Hogwarts. You’ll eat, sleep, and take classes with other members of your house. You’ll also earn points for doing well in class and lose them for misbehaving. The house at the end of the year with the most points wins the prized House Cup. There are four houses: Gryffindor, Hufflepuff, Ravenclaw, and Slytherin.”

He opened the same small door he had stepped through and ushered them all onto a low stage. Hermione found herself in a huge great hall, the ceiling of which looked to not be there at all. The night stars shone down brilliantly. Thousands of candles hovered in the air above everyone’s heads, giving the entire room a warm glow. Hundreds of eyes were staring at them all from four long tables before them. Behind them was a long table filled with adults, the other professors, Hermione surmised.

At the center of the stage, was a low stool with a grubby looking old hat on it.

“When I call your name, please sit on the stool and put the hat on,” Professor Dumbledore said, pulling a scroll out and unrolling it. Hermione looked at the rest of the first years and was surprised to see how many of them there were. But when she did the math, it made sense. Almost a hundred and fifty students in each year in order to have a thousand students in the school.

Professor Dumbledore called the first name, and the same blonde girl from their boat trotted forward. She put the hat over her head and it fell down around her ears. After a brief moment the hat, shouted, “Hufflepuff!”

The table on the far left shouted and cheered and the girl stood up grinning and left to go sit with the rest of her house. The sorting continued in the same fashion. Some students took much longer, others the hat barely touched their heads before it shouted out a house.

Finally, Professor Dumbledore called her name. She gave Tom’s hand one last squeeze before hurrying forward and sitting on the stool.

“Hmmm,” a low-pitched voice whispered in her ear. “Smart, very smart. Brave, loyal, ambitious. Truly any house could suit you. But…”

“Gryffindor,” Hermione whispered. “Please, I want to be in Gryffindor.”

“A lion, eh? Well, it would do, although Ravenclaw or Slytherin would suit you too.”

“Please, Gryffindor,” Hermione said. She probably would have been a Ravenclaw had her parents not died, but now she felt like she needed all the bravery she could muster to face the world. And Professor Dumbledore was the Head of Gryffindor, she really admired him.

“In that case… GRYFFINDOR!” the hat shouted and the table on the middle-right stood up to cheer. Hermione grinned and hurried to her new house. She offered Tom a smile over her shoulder and saw him scowl at her.

Several people welcomed her and slapped her on the back, excitedly. There were still a load of students to be sorted, so Hermione settled in to see where Tom would end up. As much as she hoped they were together, she was pretty sure he was going to ask for Slytherin just to spite what she’d said on the train.

Tom’s sorting was the longest out of anyone before him. It lasted almost ten minutes.

“Hatstall!” someone shouted after the five-minute mark. Mumbling grew in the hall the longer the sorting went on. When the hat finally spoke, Hermione thought it sounded quite begrudging as it announced Gryffindor.

“Tom!” she exclaimed as soon as he was close enough and threw her hands around his shoulders. He hunched his shoulders and his face reddened, but Hermione didn’t care. She was just happy he was with her.

“I told it to put me here,” Tom admitted about halfway through the feast after the sorting was over. “Someone has to look after you,” he said, bumping her shoulder.

Hermione threw an arm around his shoulders. “Thanks, Tom. I do want to know what the hat had to say though.”

“It wanted me for Slytherin,” Tom said with a grin. “Told you that Slytherin was the house for me.”

“And yet, here you are, a lion,” Hermione teased. Tom’s face clouded.

“For you,” he reminded her. Hermione grinned at him.

* * *

Hermione’s birthday rolled around almost three weeks into the new school year. Nobody at Hogwarts had asked her when her birthday was, so she hadn’t been expecting anything, although a small part of her hoped someone would acknowledge it. She was surprised then, when a small cake, covered in chocolate frosting appeared in front of her at dinner. She was the only one who got one, although the usual desserts appeared.

“Is it your birthday then?” Ignatius Prewett asked. He was a first year too and had flaming red hair.

Hermione nodded, smiling shyly.

“Happy Birthday!” Ignatius said cheerily. “The house-elves always make cakes for birthdays. It’s a Hogwarts tradition!”

It caught on and soon the whole table was wishing her a happy birthday. She flushed at the sudden attention and directed her gaze back down to her cake. A quick glance at Tom, and she caught him scowling. She frowned and cut the small cake in half, and handed him the other half.

“I didn’t know it was your birthday,” Tom muttered.

Hermione shrugged. “You never asked. When’s yours?”

“December 31st,” Tom replied.

“Oh, a new years baby,” Hermione laughed. “I have a few months to get you something then.”

“You don’t need to,” Tom scowled again.

“It’s what friends do,” Hermione replied. “And you didn’t know, so I’m not expecting anything from you, anyway. But now you know for next year.” She winked at him and finally he cracked a smile. They ate her cake and she hadn’t had a birthday this nice since before her parents died.

A few days after that, Tom handed her a small package wrapped in cloth.

“What’s this?” she asked. Tom shrugged. Hermione opened it and found a beautiful hair comb. It had a pretty blue gemstone in it and was even maybe made of silver.

“Tom! Where on earth did you get something like this?” Hermione asked shocked.

“I traded a homework favor for it,” Tom answered. “Do you like it?”

Hermione grinned. “I love it!” She threw her arms around his shoulder and hugged him close. She was pleased when he returned the hug, even though he was a little slow to wrap his arms around her waist.

“Happy Birthday, Hermione,” he whispered into her hair.

* * *

_October 1938_

_Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_Hogsmeade, Scotland_

* * *

Hermione found herself loving every single class she took. Each of them different from the others, and yet, a month and a half into the school year, Hermione was starting to spot the connections. They grew Potions ingredients in Herbology class. Defense Against the Dark Arts had taught them a Charms. Transfiguration and Charms often correlated with History of Magic, when learning about how certain spells were created. And you couldn’t fly a broom without knowing about the charms used to keep the broom afloat in the sky.

Flying class was the only class that Hermione didn’t care for. She had always been slightly afraid of heights, but the idea of only a broom and magic holding her up was quite terrifying. However, she excelled at Potions, which felt almost intuitive after the hours she spent cooking with her mum.

Professor Slughorn, the Potions Master, was always quite impressed with Hermione’s work and praised her and Tom both quite a bit. They had Potions with the Ravenclaws, who were excellent partners, even if they were a bit pedantic. She was glad she wasn’t a Ravenclaw.

In fact, Hermione found herself loving being a Gryffindor. The girls in her dorm were nice enough, but it was Tom that really made everything so enjoyable.

“Love the hair comb,” Tessa MacDougal said to Hermione one morning.

“Thanks,” Hermione replied, touching the comb Tom had given her for her birthday. She wore it most days.

“Where did you get it?” Tessa asked, peering at it closely. “It looks almost familiar.”

Hermione frowned, touching the comb again. “Tom gave it to me for my birthday.”

Tessa hummed noncommittedly before looking at Hermione strangely. Then she left the dorm entirely.

Hermione’s stomach twisted uncomfortably, Tom hadn’t _stolen_ the hair comb, had he? She’d never known Tom to steal before, but it did look rather expensive. How else would he have gotten it?

She bit her lip as she descended the stairs to meet Tom in the common room before breakfast. She couldn’t decide if she should ask him or not about the hair comb. Perhaps during the walk to breakfast, but part of her didn’t want to know. If it _was_ stolen, then ignorance was bliss.

In the end, she’d forgotten about the conversation entirely as Tom had asked her about their History of Magic essay due that day and she launched into a discussion of the differences between the flame-freezing charm and the flame-stilling charm.

Tom really was the best part of Hogwarts.

* * *

_November 1938_

_Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_Hogsmeade, Scotland_

* * *

School was challenging as ever as the first snow fell across Scotland. The castle corridors were freezing and Hermione was grateful for the robes they had to wear to class, the extra fabric was needed especially when a blizzard blew through one weekend. She found that despite the cold weather, she loved the snow. Snow wasn’t unheard of in London, but it often didn’t last long. Up here, there were piles and piles of it that seemed to last for days. One afternoon, she had even lured Tom out onto the grounds with the rest of the Gryffindor first years into a massive snowball fight. Hermione wasn’t sure when she’d ever had so much fun.

“Why does he treat them like that?” Tom asked Hermione in Transfiguration class a week before the beginning of December.

“Treat who like what?” Hermione asked absentmindedly as she read the theory behind the spell they were learning that day. They were attempting to turn a needle into a matchstick.

“Dumbledore,” Tom muttered. “He’s almost rude to the Slytherins. Why do you think?”

Hermione looked up at what Tom was looking at to see Professor Dumbledore scowling at a trio of Slytherins. Transfiguration and Astronomy were the only classes they had with the Slytherins, so Hermione, in general, didn’t pay them much mind.

“Perhaps they were misbehaving,” Hermione said dismissively.

Tom shook his head. “No, Malfoy, the blonde one, just asked a question and Dumbledore practically bit his head off. He’s always like this. Do the other professors treat them like this, you think?”

Hermione shook her head. “I don’t know. I can’t say that I’ve actually noticed that much.” She frowned as she watched Professor Dumbledore show them the spell again, his face set into a stern look. Tom had a point. Why was their Professor so short with the Slytherins?

“Potter,” Tom said, directing his question at the boy sitting at the table in front of them. Fleamont Potter had extremely messy, black hair and was one of the more popular boys in their house. “Aren’t mostly pure-bloods in Slytherin?”

Potter turned around to face them and nodded. Then he looked over his shoulder at where Dumbledore was still glaring at Malfoy and his tablemates.

“Yep,” Potter said. “But Slytherins are mostly bad eggs. That’s what my dad always said. It’s why they are treated like that. Especially by Professor Dumbledore.”

“But why?” Tom asked. “What makes them bad eggs?”

“Lots of Grindelwald supporters in that house,” Potter said quietly.

“Who?” Hermione asked.

Potter’s eyes widened. “You don’t know who Grindelwald is?”

“Muggleborn,” Hermione snapped.

“Right, well, he’s a wizard based out of Germany, who very much dislikes Muggles and Muggleborns. In Britain, we’re more accepting of people without magic, but that’s not the case elsewhere in Europe and Grindelwald would like to get rid of the Statute of Secrecy, you know what that is, right?”

Hermione and Tom both nodded, Professor Dumbledore had explained it to them at the orphanage.

“Right, so he wants to do away with it because he thinks wizards are better than Muggles and that we shouldn’t hide from them, but like, rule over them.”

“Oh,” Hermione was stunned. She knew that there were bad people in the world, her parents were murdered by some, after all, but she had been living in a state of bliss since entering the wizarding world and now it seemed like her rose colored glasses had been removed. Apparently, there were bad people everywhere.

“Have they always been considered the worst house?” Tom asked.

Potter nodded, then shrugged. “Well as far as I know. Potters are always Gryffindors though, so I knew there was no chance I’d end up there,” he grinned at them both, before turning back around just as Dumbledore looked their way.

“Maybe I should do some research into the founders?” Tom suggested. “There has to be a reason that Slytherin is treated so poorly. Grindelwald can’t have been around for that long, can he?”

“I guess,” Hermione said, still watching the trio of Slytherins. “Are you glad you aren’t in that house?”

Tom scowled at her. “I’m glad I’m with _you_ ,” he emphasized. Hermione smiled at him and turned back to her book. She was glad Tom was with her too, especially if what Potter said about the Slytherins not liking Muggleborns was true.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **I couldn't have written this without the talented infallible angel and her excellent alpha/beta skills.**
> 
> **If you love this (or hate it) please let me know about in a review! Find me on Tumblr at crochetawayhpff. Enjoy!**

_blitz - to attack or defeat, to destroy, demolish_

* * *

_December 1938_

_Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_Hogsmeade, Scotland_

* * *

Hermione felt a strange sort of excitement as she watched the rest of the students line up to go back to Hogsmeade to board the train. She and Tom weren’t going back to the orphanage over the Christmas holidays, but every other student was. The castle felt like home, and she was excited to explore every nook and cranny she could find with Tom.

It was also a relief being away from her dorm mates. Being an orphan was difficult, being a Muggle-born orphan was more so. There were a few other Muggle-borns in Gryffindor, but none of the other girls in her year were. She was less sure about the boys.

“Do you wish we were going with them?” Tom asked her quietly. Hermione shook her head.

“I’m rather excited to explore the castle with nobody else about,” she replied, grinning at him.

“Do you think there are any hidden passages?” Tom asked.

Hermione nodded. “ _Hogwarts: A History_ discusses them obliquely. And it’s a castle that’s almost a thousand years old. There has to be passages and rooms that have been forgotten about over the years.”

“Where should we start then?” Tom smirked.

“At the top, of course!” Hermione said. She looped her arm through Tom’s and led him up toward the seventh-floor corridor.

They had fun exploring the castle for the rest of the day. When Dumbledore caught them in the third-floor corridor thirty minutes before dinner was set to begin, he gave them a wink.

“Technically, you are to remain in your common rooms for most of the break. But I won’t tell anyone if you won’t,” he murmured as he passed them. Hermione broke out into giggles as she and Tom began making their way to the Great Hall for dinner.

Dinner that night was strange. Instead of four long house tables, the entire hall as empty, except for one large table at the center of the hall. Even the head table was missing. Most of the professors were there, already seated at the table. There weren’t any other students staying over, except for Tom and Hermione. Dumbledore waved them over to him and they both sat gratefully just as the food appeared on the table.

Hermione was fascinated to listen to the professors discuss articles and theories they were working on. It hadn’t really occurred to her that her professors would be active contributors to their fields of study. She got into a fascinating conversation with Professor Slughorn regarding the use of porcupine quills in various potions.

It was much later that night after Hermione and Tom returned to the Gryffindor common room that Hermione found herself unable to sleep. She tossed and turned for an hour, trying and failing to fall asleep. It seemed she missed having her dorm mates. The sounds of the other girls sleeping, breathing, even snoring had become comforting over the last few months. She didn’t even think before she slipped down the girls' stairs and up the boys’.

“Tom,” she whispered, pushing the door open. The room was dark, but she could see only one bed had the curtains pulled.

He stuck his hand out of the curtain and waved her over. Hermione crept across the freezing stones and slipped through the curtain and into bed with him.

“Couldn’t sleep,” she muttered. “Too quiet.”

Tom hummed and rolled over, giving her more space, but didn’t say anything else. Hermione fell asleep quickly while she listened to Tom’s breathing.

For Christmas, they have given each other the most fascinating book they could find in the library. Without much access to money, they had to be creative in their gift-giving and it had been Hermione’s idea. She found an engrossing treatise on human to animal transfiguration for Tom, even though it went over her head, she knew he would appreciate it. In return, Tom found an old potions textbook that was marked up. There were no clues as to who it belonged too, but when Hermione tried one of the simpler potions, she was pleased with the results from the notes in the margins.

It snowed heavily between Christmas and New Year’s and several times Hermione and Tom found themselves outside, playing in the snow. It was such a luxury that they didn’t often get in London. Afterward, hot cocoa appeared in the common room for them and they cozied up in front of the fire, reading their Christmas presents.

On his birthday, she had given Tom a chocolate bar. She had done Ignatius’s Herbology homework for a week in exchange for it. Not nearly as expensive as the hair comb that Hermione wore almost daily, but it was the best she could do. Tom seemed pleased by it all the same.

Overall, it was one of the best Christmas holidays Hermione had ever had. She and Tom talked about everything and in the evenings she found herself sleeping in Tom’s bed. It was comforting being near him and by the time the rest of the students came back, she knew that she would miss sleeping next to him.

* * *

_January 1939_

_Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_Hogsmeade, Scotland_

* * *

Hermione didn’t know for sure, but she suspected that many of the girls in her dorm had spoken about her to their parents. What had been cold indifference before the Christmas holidays had turned into mean-spirited bullying after them. She’d found her hairbrush between her mattress and bed, a place she knew she didn’t put it and had to use the Impervious charm on her knapsack after someone dumped one of her own ink pots into it. It was worse than being back at the orphanage again when Tom had made the girls there stop talking to her. There at least nobody had messed with her things.

That thought stopped her short as she was reviewing an essay. _Had Tom done it again?_ She looked at him out of the corner of her eye. He was hunched over his own essay, writing furiously.

“Tom?” she whispered. They were in the library and Madam Bagnole was strict, but as long as they whispered, she usually let it slide.

“Yes?” Tom hissed back, still focusing on his essay.

“Did you…” Hermione trailed off and shook her head.

“What?” he asked, finally looking at her.

“No, never mind. It’s silly,” she muttered.

Tom’s eyes darkened. “Tell me,” he demanded.

“It’s just the girls in my dorm. They are different now. Almost like Amy Benson and the girls at the orphanage and—”

“You’re wondering if I had anything to do with it?” Tom asked, leaning back in his chair and scowling.

“I mean, it crossed my mind,” Hermione admitted, “but the more I thought about it, the more ridiculous it sounded,” she hurried on to add.

“I see,” Tom said, looking down his nose at her. He turned and focused back on his essay.

 _Rubbish,_ Hermione thought. She didn’t want Tom to be mad at her.

“Hey,” she tugged on his sleeve and he glared at her. “Don’t be mad. It’s stupid like I said. I know you didn’t really—”

“Of course, I didn’t,” Tom hissed angrily. “Those girls are just jealous. You’re a Muggle-born and way better at every class than them. I don’t even know how you could think that I did.”

He stood up, gathered his books, and stormed out of the library without giving her another glance. Her heart thundered painfully in her throat and she felt cold. She should have just kept that stupid thought to herself, she had gone and upset the only person who spoke to her. Taking a couple of deep breaths, she ground the palm of her hands into her eyes in an effort to keep back her tears. This was the library, crying here would only make the bullying worse. She hadn’t cried in months, but the sick feeling swooping low in her stomach steadily increased, until she was gathering her books and running out of the library.

* * *

_February 1939_

_Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_Hogsmeade, Scotland_

* * *

She and Tom weren’t on speaking terms and it was driving Hermione up the wall. Not only was Tom not talking to her, but the girls in her dorm were being worse than they ever had before. Her shoes had been hexed by someone to make her fall. She’d only discovered it in Defense Against the Dark Arts class when Professor Merrythought held her back after class to remove the hex. It certainly explained the half a dozen times she’d tripped that morning. Merrythought had kindly taught her the counter-spell, even though it was a second year spell.

As she was walking down the stairs from Charms class, Marjory Doyle hissed at her.

“Mudblood!”

Hermione had heard the word plenty of times already this year, some of it even directed at her. She felt like she had a pretty good handle on her temper, but Marjory’s curse, spat at her so viciously, just shredded every last ounce of Hermione’s control. She whipped around and shoved Marjory as hard as she could in the shoulders.

Marjory lost her balance, pinwheeling her arms, and scattering her books on the stairs before falling onto the landing below. Hermione turned around and sprinted up the rest of the stairs, eager to get to Transfiguration. Her heart pounded in her ears as she ran to transfiguration. She was definitely going to be expelled if anyone saw her and it wasn’t even fair. Her fingers and face were cold as she tried to get her breathing in order. She almost felt faint, she was going to be expelled and then they would take away her wand and she would have to live in that rotten orphanage full time again. Tom wasn’t even talking to her anymore so she would have to leave without saying goodbye.

Halfway through Transfiguration, Professor Dumbledore was called out of class to attend a student in the Infirmary and Hermione knew she was finished. The class was dismissed and she followed the rest of her classmates back up to Gryffindor tower. Deciding she might as well get a headstart on packing, Hermione ignored everyone and headed up the stairs to the girls’ dormitory.

“Granger?” a second-year that Hermione didn’t know well asked, knocking on the door to her room.

“Yes?” Hermione asked, she had just piled all of her books in her trunk and the second-year gave her a funny look.

“Professor Dumbledore’s downstairs asking to speak with you.”

“Thanks,” Hermione muttered and followed the girl out of the room and back down to the common room. Professor Dumbledore was standing near the portrait hole with a severe look on his face. Hermione saw Tom but ignored him as she crossed the room.

“Miss Granger, follow me,” Dumbledore said. Hermione nodded and followed him. She was surprised when Tom scuttled out of the portrait hole behind them.

“Mr Riddle, you are not required for this discussion,” Dumbledore intoned.

“I think I am if it’s about Marjory Doyle,” Tom replied. Hermione’s heart skittered wildly in her chest and her hands were shaking she was so nervous about the discussion to come.

Dumbledore’s eyes narrowed and he looked at them both for a long moment. Hermione didn’t even dare to look at Tom. She didn’t want him to get expelled too, but she couldn’t help but be pleased that he seemed to want to help her.

“Fine, this way,” he led them down the hallway and toward a suit of armor. Muttering something to the suit, it jumped aside and Dumbledore led them into a cozy office. There was a cheery fire blazing in one wall. A desk with a few chairs in front of it took up most of the room. “Sit.”

Tom and Hermione both sat and Hermione still refrained from looking at Tom, even though she knew he was looking at her.

“Explain what happened with Marjory Doyle,” Dumbledore said after sitting behind the desk.

“She called Hermione a Mudblood, sir,” Tom said before Hermione could get any words out. Dumbledore sucked in a sharp breath and looked to Hermione who nodded her confirmation. “She and the rest of the first year girls have been bullying Hermione relentlessly since coming back from Christmas break. I didn’t mean for her to fall down the stairs, but I did shove her shoulder. I shouldn’t have,” Tom said contritely.

Hermione stared at him. Why would he take the blame for this? Why would he try to protect her like this? Did he want to get expelled? Had he even been on the stairwell? It set off a whole host of questions that she desperately needed answers for.

“I see,” Dumbledore said tightly. “Mudblood is a term that I find inherently disgusting. I will speak to Miss Doyle about her use of such language in this institution. I would ask that in the future you find a professor or other staff member instead of attempting to solve these issues with either physical _or_ magical violence.”

Tom nodded sorrowfully and Hermione couldn’t believe it. She nodded along with him though, not about to give away what really happened. Dumbledore looked at them both for a long moment before sighing heavily.

“I will have to assign you detention, Tom, however, I think it is admirable that you stood up for your friend. That’s what being a Gryffindor is all about,” he smiled at them both. “See me tonight directly after dinner to serve your detention.”

He dismissed them then and Hermione let out a shaky breath, adrenaline still pumping through her body had her hands trembling. She took several deep breaths, trying to calm herself. Nothing made sense. Dumbledore should have had a harsher punishment than detention, surely? She wasn’t quite sure how hurt Marjory was exactly, but they had been standing near the top of the steps, which meant she’d fallen down at least a dozen steps.

Hermione eyed Tom out of the corner of her eye, but he was scowling so she didn’t say anything. His moods were mercurial at best and he _did_ just take a punishment for her. She kept her mouth shut and walked with him back to the common room.

Late that night, Hermione waited up for Tom to get back from his detention with Professor Dumbledore. Most of the other Gryffindors had gone up to bed already when Tom finally came through the portrait hole.

“Was it terrible?” Hermione asked. Tom’s face was showing a fierce scowl again.

“No,” he said shortly and moved past her.

“Tom, wait,” Hermione said, grabbing his arm to pull him to a stop. “I can’t decide whether to thank you, apologize, or yell at you.”

“Yelling at me seems to be your modus operandi,” Tom spat, turning to face her. He crossed his arms over his chest and looked down his nose at her.

“I don’t need you to cover for me,” Hermione said. “I’m a big girl and was fully prepared to take my punishment.”

“And what? Be expelled? Leave me here by myself?” Tom hissed.

Hermione sucked in a breath. In all her thoughts about her imminent expulsion, she hadn’t even considered what it would do to Tom to be here by himself.

“You’ve done well enough this last month,” Hermione pointed out in a whisper. “You’ve barely talked to me, you’ve been so angry. I said I was sorry!”

Tom sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “I know that I should have been kinder to you in the orphanage,” Tom said, “but once I found out you were like me, I just got obsessed I guess with being your friend and then you weren’t until you were. But—”

“It’s fine, but don’t take my punishment again,” Hermione said sternly. “And I won’t jump to conclusions about you plotting behind my back.”

Tom gritted his teeth and nodded tightly.

“What is it?” Hermione asked, suddenly wary.

“You were given to _me_ to protect,” Tom said, his face still full of anger, “and nothing will change that. I won’t plot behind your back, I haven’t since the summer and I won’t again. But I can’t agree to not protect you, Hermione.”

“I’m a witch, too, Tom,” Hermione shouted. “I don’t need you to protect me. You aren’t my dad, you aren’t my brother, and I don’t need that kind of help from you. I just want you to be my friend.”

“Agree to disagree, then,” Tom muttered.

“I don’t agree at all! That’s the point! Stop trying to control me, Tom Riddle,” Hermione hissed. With a flounce, she left him in the common room and raced up the stairs to her dormitory. Things had been so nice at Christmas, why couldn’t they stay that way between her and Tom?

* * *

_March 1939_

_Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_Hogsmeade, Scotland_

* * *

So far, 1939 had been a miserable year for Tom. It all felt so unfair after the best Christmas holiday and birthday of his life things had quickly gone south. Why couldn’t Hermione see that his intentions were good? He only wanted the best for her, to protect her and keep her safe. It was clear to him that she garnered more ill attention than most Muggle-borns. Tom suspected it had something to do with the fact that she was a witch and utterly brilliant. Between the two of them, they were the top of every class in their whole year. Not just in Gryffindor. He’d always known people were jealous and petty, but seeing it first hand in the way they treated Hermione made his blood boil. He didn’t get it nearly as bad as she did from the girls, although there were several boys in his dorm who looked down on him for his blood status and the fact that he was a poor orphan.

Finally, halfway through March, Tom cornered Hermione in the common room. She had been avoiding it, and studying in the library instead, but every time he came to sit at her table, she packed up her things and left.

“What do you want me to say?” he asked her. It was a Saturday, a Quidditch Saturday and Tom would much rather be out at the pitch watching the game, but Hermione never watched the games, so he stayed behind to talk to her.

“I already told you,” she replied coldly. “I don’t need a protector. I want a friend. And you can apologize for trying to control my life.”

Tom sighed. He wasn’t ever not going to protect Hermione. That was out of the question, but if it got her talking to him again, he’d happily lie to her about it.

“I’m sorry,” he replied as contritely as he could. “I’m sorry for trying to control you. Of course, you’re right. You can take care of yourself.”

Hermione eyed him skeptically for a long moment before nodding. Tom released a breath and felt a weight lift from his shoulders.

“I hate not talking to you,” he muttered.

“Me as well,” Hermione replied. She leaned against his side, in a half hug and Tom breathed her in as her scent washed over him. It was so comforting, he felt himself relaxing further into the sofa they were sitting on. Since everyone else was at the Quidditch match, they had their pick of the sofas in the common room and had snagged the one right in front of the fireplace.

“I didn’t want to study for exams without you,” Tom admitted.

Hermione gasped and sat upright, turning to look at him. “You haven’t started studying for exams yet? Tom! It’s halfway through March! There are only three more months! Criminy had I known that I would have made up a schedule for you already.”

She dug through her bag at the side and began copying her own color-coded schedule by hand. Tom looked at her amused for a long moment.

“There’s a charm for that, you know,” he murmured.

“Do you know it?” Hermione asked sharply, still copying her schedule.

“No.”

“Me neither,” she said. “This will have to do.” She finished with a flourish and handed it to him. “We can begin right now if you’d like. I have this blocked off for time for some light-reading, but if you haven’t begun to revise at all, we should definitely get a start since you’re so far behind.”

“Alright,” Tom agreed. Frankly, at that point, he would have agreed to almost anything to get her to talk to him again. And he liked revising almost as much as Hermione did, even if he wasn’t quite so militant about it.

* * *

_May 1939_

_Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_Hogsmeade, Scotland_

* * *

The weather in Scotland was finally nice enough to allow for studying in the courtyard. Tom and Hermione were doing just that when a large shadow fell over their books. Tom looked up and frowned to see several third-year Slytherins scowling down at them. Their ties were loose around their necks and they weren’t wearing their school robes at all, giving them a casual air.

“Can I help you?” he asked cooly.

“This is our spot, you filthy, Mudblood,” the Slytherin with pitch-black hair and dull brown eyes hissed. “You need to move, or I’ll make you move.”

Hermione looked around, a confused look on her face. “Strange. I don’t see your name here anywhere, Withers. Tell me again, how this spot is ‘your’s?’”

Tom snorted a laugh, which only served to make Withers and his friends angrier. Withers whipped out his wand and spat, “ _Flipendo_!”

Hermione was knocked back, flipping over entirely onto her back. Her robe and skirt slid up almost obscenely and Tom stood angrily.

“There’s plenty of space in the courtyard, we’re not moving for you inbred berks,” Tom hissed.

“Oh, you’ll pay for that, Riddle,” one of Withers cronies said. Tom thought his name was Goyle.

“Yeah, are you going to duel me?” Tom asked. “I can take the three of you on and I’m only a first year. You’re pathetic picking on people younger than you.”

“ _Expelliarmus_!” Withers hissed, pointing his wand at Tom.

Tom ducked out of the way of the curse and it sailed uselessly over his head.

“ _Flagrante_!” Tom shouted, pointing his wand at the center of Withers’s chest. His robe immediately began to burn him and Withers shouted in pain, dropping his wand.

“Let this be a lesson to you,” Tom said over Withers’s screams. “I don’t put up with people bullying me or Hermione.”

Goyle and the other companion looked at Tom with something like horror as they helped Withers stand.

“Tom,” Hermione said while they watched the trio leave the courtyard. “You are going to get in so much trouble for that! Why would you use the Flagrante curse on him?”

Tom grit his teeth. He _wanted_ to say that it was to protect her, but he knew she would have another fit if he said that. Instead, he said, “Because I hate bullies.”

“So you become one?” Hermione asked.

“No! He attacked us first,” Tom said, whirling around to look at her. “I tried de-escalating the situation and he was having none of it. I’m not about to become a punching bag for every git in this school and I won’t let you be one either.”

He was breathing heavily and Hermione sighed. “Are you alright?” he asked her after a long moment. He looked her over, but she seemed fine.

“Yes, embarrassed, my knickers were almost showing,” she hissed her face turning bright red.

“Another reason to have defended against them,” Tom murmured.

It was two days later that Professor Dumbledore asked for Tom and Hermione to join him in his office once again.

“I have to admit I’m disappointed in you both after the conversation we had in February,” Dumbledore began.

“Sir, we didn’t do anything,” Hermione said before Tom could respond. He frowned at her. He was fine dealing with the consequences of his actions, but let Hermione continue. “Those boys were bullying us. He sent a Knock-Back Jinx at me. Tom was trying to protect me, but then the next spell that Withers fired, backfired. He said the incantation wrong or did the wrong wand movement and it hit him instead.”

Dumbledore stared between them both for a long moment. “The Flagrante Curse, which is what Mr Withers was cursed with, is quite an advanced spell for a third-year. That is concerning indeed. Thank you both for telling me the truth.” Dumbledore smiled then, his blue eyes twinkling at them and Tom was surprised that Dumbledore didn’t even bother to check Tom or Hermione’s wand. He just believed them. Why would Dumbledore just believe them? It seemed terribly naïve to Tom, but he was pleased with the result all the same.

When they left Dumbledore’s office, he turned to Hermione. He didn’t say anything, just waiting for her explanation.

“You protect me, I protect you,” she said lifting her chin. “We’re a team, Tom. And besides, he bought it.”

“Yes, and isn’t that curious,” Tom murmured as they made their way back to the Gryffindor common room. “Why would he just believe us?”

“House prejudice?” Hermione suggested. “They were Slytherins and it’s quite clear that Dumbledore and everyone else in this school seem to hate the Slytherins.”

Tom nodded thoughtfully as he listened to her explanation. Now he just needed to figure out how he could use it to his advantage in the future.

* * *

_June 1939_

_Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_Hogsmeade, Scotland_

* * *

The journey back to London at the end of the year was infinitely worse than the journey to Scotland in September had been. There was nothing to look forward to over the summer except endless days of boredom where they couldn’t even practice their magic. The only thing they could look forward to was, was waiting for Dumbledore to come back and take them for their school things at some point in August. Still months away.

At least it was cold in London for June and there was less sweating as they dragged their trunks down the streets of Kennington and back to the orphanage. The orphanage itself seemed shabbier than ever after the splendor of Hogwarts and Tom sneered as he and Hermione dragged their trunks back up to the first floor and their respective rooms.

Tom was livid when he discovered his single room had been converted into a double and another boy was living there.

“Get out,” he told the boy.

“No! It’s my room too. I don’t even know who you are.”

Tom pointed to the other bed. “That’s my bed. And that,” he said pointing to the bed the boy was lounging on, “is my spare bed. Not yours. Get. Out.”

The boy glared at Tom and rolled out of the bed. “Mrs Cole!” he shouted leaving the room. Tom glared after him. He knew he couldn’t physically fight the boy, he was older and bigger than Tom, but Tom wasn’t about to share his room with him. He stormed out of the room and found Hermione. She had always shared, there were far more girls in the orphanage than boys.

“Come on,” he muttered and grabbed her arm with one hand and her half-unpacked trunk with the other.

“Tom? What’s going on?” Hermione asked as he dragged her down the corridor.

“You’re moving in. I’m not sharing my room with anyone but you,” Tom said. He ignored Hermione’s cheeks as they heated in pleasure.

“Oh, thank god,” she replied. “I was dreading having to share with Gertrude again. Won’t Mrs Cole mind?”

“Let me handle Mrs Cole,” Tom replied coolly.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **All of the thanks to infallible angel for her excellent alpha/beta skills.**
> 
> **If you love this (or hate it) please let me know about in a review! Find me on Tumblr at crochetawayhpff. Enjoy!**

_blitzkrieg - war conducted with great speed and force_

* * *

_September 1939_

_Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_Hogsmeade, Scotland_

* * *

Hermione was relieved to be back at school. The summer had been incredibly boring, although sharing a room with Tom had been a pleasant surprise. Hermione still didn’t know what Tom said to convince Mrs Cole that it wouldn’t be a problem, but she didn’t interfere. She did pinch her lips anytime she saw Hermione or Tom though. Hermione didn’t care. She only had to put up with Mrs Cole for a few months out of the year. And the rest of the time she was at her home, her sanctuary, Hogwarts.

Over the summer, when Professor Dumbledore had come to take them to Diagon Alley, she had asked about a subscription to the wizarding newspaper, the _Daily Prophet_. Dumbledore nodded and informed her he would take out a subscription on her behalf, granted that she shared it with Tom and burned it when finished with each copy at the orphanage. Hermione agreed readily, she was eager to learn more about the wizarding world, and her glimpses of the _Daily Prophet_ were fascinating.

Three days into the school year, the Great Hall went deadly silent approximately thirty seconds after the _Daily Prophet_ had been dropped off.

 _WAR IN THE MUGGLE WORLD!!!_ Emblazoned across the top of the paper. Below was a moving photo of the Muggle Prime Minister giving a speech about his decision to declare war on Germany. There was even a blurb from the French Prime Minister as well.

“What does this mean for us?” a sixth-year Gryffindor stood up and shouted toward the head table.

Headmaster Dippet stood slowly and moved to the podium to speak to the school. Hermione listened closely, she too was concerned about this. More concerning was that she and Tom still had a foot in the Muggle world. How would the impending war affect them? Luckily Tom was much too young to be called up, but the fact that he might be in a few years terrified her. She’d heard all too many stories about the Great War from her father who had served. It had been the thing of nightmares.

Dippet rambled for a while and Hermione tried to follow him, but frankly, he seemed rather confused and bumbling.

“Any idea what he’s trying to say?” Fleamont murmured.

Hermione shushed him and she ignored Tom as he rolled his eyes. Finally, Dippet was finished and a murmur rose up throughout the whole hall.

“He basically said we’ll be safe. That hardly any wizards who didn’t get themselves directly involved in the fighting during the Great War died. That and since Britain is an island, it was unlikely that the fighting would come here, just like in the Great War,” Hermione summarized for those sitting near her. “Honestly, he didn’t sound that concerned.”

“What about those of us who live in the Muggle world?” a third year whose name Hermione didn’t know asked. Hermione could only shrug in response.

“We live in the Muggle world too,” she said. “London actually, which worries me a bit. What if London gets attacked?”

“It wasn’t during the Great War,” Tom reminded her.

Hermione shook her head. “But things are different now. There are so many different technologies that they didn’t have then.”

“We’ll be fine,” Tom said gruffly, throwing his arm around her shoulders. She appreciated the gesture, but she wasn’t quite sure she felt the same. “Especially since we’ll be at Hogwarts for the next ten months. We don’t even need to worry about it until June.”

She nodded and read through the _Daily Prophet_ article again. It appeared that the group of brown-shirts that had killed her parents had come to political power in Germany as the National Socialist Party, led by a man called Adolf Hitler. His photo wasn’t in the _Daily Prophet_ and Hermione wondered how difficult it would be to get ahold of a Muggle newspaper. Perhaps Dumbledore could help her with that as well.

Later that night, she and Tom were at the same table they had claimed the year previous in a quiet corner of the common room.

“What’s bothering you?” Tom asked quietly.

Hermione looked up at him, barely able to keep her eyes from spilling over. She’d been thinking about her parents most of the day. About their senseless deaths and how she hadn’t even been able to bury them. They’d gone on a trip and never come home. She realized as Tom was looking at her with concern that she’d never told him _why_ she’d been sent to the orphanage, beyond the obvious.

“It’s my parents,” Hermione whispered, her bottom lip trembling. “Those people in Germany, the Nazis, they were the ones who killed my parents last year.”

“Oh,” Tom said. His face was still scrunched up and Hermione thought he looked kind of funny, but a sob escaped her and she buried her face into her hands.

“Come here,” Tom muttered and threw his arms around her shoulders, practically hauling her out of her chair and into his lap. Hermione fit her head against his chest, under his chin as he rocked her and let her cry. He ran a soothing hand up her back and stroked her hair.

After a long while, she calmed down and was hiccoughing quietly against him.

“Better?” he asked.

Hermione nodded. “I got your robes all wet.”

Tom laughed softly. “It’s alright.”

“You’re a good friend,” she whispered and stayed in his arms for a moment longer before gently extricating herself. Tom looked inordinately pleased at the compliment and Hermione resolved to compliment him more often.

* * *

_October 1939_

_Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_Hogsmeade, Scotland_

* * *

Second year was even better than first year if such a thing were possible. Hermione _loved_ Hogwarts. She loved the classes and the professors. She loved the castle and especially loved the magic of the place. Since exploring last Christmas holidays, she was eager to use some of the shortcuts and hidden passages she and Tom had found.

The second week of October brought a trickle of Jewish exchange students from Durmstrang. They were sorted and dormitories were expanded to accommodate them. Dippet said nothing except that they had been studying at Durmstrang and decided to move to Britain due to the war.

Hermione had gotten permission from Dumbledore to receive a daily copy of the _Times_ from London. It was mailed to an owl post service in London and then arrived at Hogwarts via Owl, just like the _Daily Prophet_. Tom didn’t understand her interest in the war, but Hermione couldn’t help but be both fascinated and horrified by what she was learning of the people who had murdered her parents.

By the end of October, there were almost twenty-five exchange students from Durmstrang. But in the first week of November, an additional twenty-five came all at once.

“Why is it just the Jewish ones?” Tom asked with interest. “You’d think parents of all wizards would want them safe.”

“It’s the Jews who are being persecuted,” Hermione said. “ _Kristallnacht_ happened almost a year ago. That’s when the Nazi’s looted Jewish businesses and homes all across Germany. Not much news comes out of Germany, but people died during it. If I was Jewish, I would definitely want to get off of the continent as quickly as possible.”

“But Durmstrang is in Norway, and Denmark is between them,” Tom protested.

“Denmark isn’t very big,” Hermione said. “The German army seems really strong. I wouldn’t take my chances either.”

Tom grumbled some more.

“What’s this really about?” Hermione asked him.

“I just don’t like all of the new people.”

“This castle is huge and could probably fit twice the number of students as we have now. I think it’s a good thing Hogwarts is doing, by taking in those who need a place to go. And besides, they’d practically orphans. Like us.”

“Not like us,” Tom scowled. “Not like _me_. They know who their parents are. Just like you do.”

Hermione frowned at him. “Well maybe we could figure out who your parents are?” she suggested.

Tom looked sullen for a long moment. “Maybe,” he finally said.

“Do you want me to help you look? I’ve almost got the entire system in the library down,” she said, grinning at him.

Tom rolled his eyes. “I’ll be fine. I don’t even know if the library will having anything about them.”

“Well, there’s a whole stack of old _Daily Prophets_ that we could look through. Maybe there was a marriage announcement, or a birth announcement or something?”

“Maybe,” Tom said again.

“Do you know anything at all?” Hermione asked.

Tom shook his head. “Well, I was named after my father and grandfather. Tom Riddle was my father and Marvolo was my grandfather’s name.”

“Marvolo? Is that your middle name?” Hermione asked with a laugh. “What a funny name.”

“Sounds like a wizards name, doesn’t it?” Tom asked. “That’s sort of why I think at least maybe my mum’s side were wizards.”

“You don’t know your mum’s name?” Hermione asked.

“Merope Riddle, but no maiden name,” Tom replied. “It would be easier if I knew that.”

Hermione nodded. It would be easier if he knew his mother’s maiden name. “Do you think Riddle is Muggle then?”

“Sounds pretty Muggle,” Tom replied glumly.

“Nothing wrong with a Muggle name,” Hermione reminded him. “ _I_ have a Muggle name.”

“Hermione sounds like a wizards name, to be fair. Is it from the Troy story? Or Shakespeare?”

Hermione’s eyes widened. “I’m surprised you know _both_ of those. People usually know one or the other, or really, neither.”

Tom smirked haughtily. “Well, which is it?”

“The Troy story,” Hermione said. “My mother’s name was Helena and my father always insisted she was the most beautiful woman in the world, just like Helen of Troy.”

“That’s sweet.” Tom smiled slightly. Hermione was kind of surprised that Tom thought it sweet at all. It was rare for him to show any emotion that he considered soft and weak.

“He always said I looked like her,” Hermione said softly, then laughed. “Although, I got his hair.” She held up a brown, bushy lock. “Not so beautiful with this on my head.”

“I think it suits you,” Tom said. “It makes how you look match your personality.”

Hermione beamed at him, pleased with the compliment. “Thanks,” she replied, knowing her cheeks were red with pleasure.

* * *

_December 1939_

_Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_Hogsmeade, Scotland_

* * *

The first week of December brought an influx of Jewish students from Beauxbatons as well. Almost forty of them, in total. They were all sorted and quite a few of them ended up in Gryffindor. Most of the Durmstrang students had gone to Slytherin, but Beauxbatons students were sorted much more equally among the houses, although Gryffindor received more than any other house. The students were all ages though, with only one second year: François Delacour. Hermione thought him a kind, jolly sort of fellow who was incredibly good looking. He had light blond hair with light green eyes and a sweet smile with a dimple in one cheek.

Tom hated him.

The problem came when the Christmas holidays rolled around. All of the British students left, as usual, but none of the Durmstrang or Beauxbatons students left. Which meant there were almost thirty Gryffindors staying. Most of them Beauxbatons students. Including François Delacour.

The first night of the Christmas holidays, Hermione stayed in her dorm, although she hated it. It was too quiet and the idea that she could curl up next to Tom and sleep peacefully wouldn’t leave her alone. It nagged at her mind and she tossed and turned. Finally, after hours, she got up and looked at the clock above the fireplace, it was nearing three in the morning. Way too early to get up for the day and she yawned widely as she crept down the girls’ stairs. The common room was completely empty and Hermione made her way up the boys’ stairs without issues. She hesitated outside of Tom’s door for a long moment. What would François think? She shook her head. She couldn’t care, she needed to sleep and that would only happen with Tom. So she opened the door and slipped inside. Their fire was burning low, just as hers had been and she crossed the room, hoping Tom was in the same bed as before.

“Hermione?” a voice asked, and she whirled around to find that François slept with his curtains open.

“Go back to bed,” she whispered as she pulled the curtains apart from Tom’s bed and slipped inside.

“Finally,” Tom muttered as he rolled over to give her room. His arm landed on her back as she snuggled into the pillow and Hermione fell asleep within moments.

* * *

“Aren’t you both a little young for this?” François asked in his almost flawless English the following morning.

Hermione was barely awake when the curtains were ripped apart. François stared down at them suspiciously with his arms crossed over his chest.

“Mind your own business, Delacour,” Tom groaned and pulled the pillow over his head.

Hermione desperately wanted to cuddle back up to Tom and go back to sleep, a glance at the clock told her it was only seven. Four hours of sleep was not nearly enough, but François didn’t look like he was going anywhere.

“It’s a long story,” Hermione sighed.

“You don’t owe him anything,” Tom hissed. “Go back to bed. You need your sleep.”

“I’ll survive one day on four hours,” Hermione replied and ripped the covers off of him. He glared at her and sat up, then turned his glare on François.

“Mind your business,” Tom repeated.

“It’s my business if we’re going to get in trouble with Dumbledore for having a girl in our dormitory overnight,” François said.

Tom groaned loudly. “Dumbledore doesn’t care, don’t worry. Nothing’s happening except sleep.”

Hermione put her hand on Tom’s arm to stop him from talking. “We’re both orphans,” she told François. “We live at the same orphanage, so we’ve been friends since before coming to Hogwarts. Since my parents died,” she was proud that her lip only trembled a little bit and her eyes didn’t tear up at all, “I’ve had a hard time sleeping. Sleeping next to someone, or in the same room, helps. There aren’t any second year girls who stayed this year.”

François eyed them both suspiciously for a long moment before shrugging and leaving the dorm without saying a word.

“Is he always like that?” Hermione asked. Tom nodded then flicked the bed curtains closed again, dragging Hermione back to laying down.

“You need more sleep,” he said as he wrapped an arm around her and Hermione yawned, closing her eyes once more.

* * *

_January 1940_

_Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_Hogsmeade, Scotland_

* * *

It wasn’t until January that Tom felt like he was ahead enough on his schoolwork to begin devoting real time to search for his mother’s family. Merope and Marvolo were definitely wizarding names, and he could have asked someone. Perhaps Professor Dumbledore would have known either of them, or maybe one of the other students, but frankly, Tom was embarrassed. There were students at Hogwarts who could trace their families back a thousand years, and Tom didn’t even know what his own mother’s maiden name was.

“Where are those old copies of the _Daily Prophet_?” Tom asked Hermione one snowy Saturday. They were in their usual spot in the Alchemy section of the Hogwarts library. It was always empty and Hermione appreciated the quiet. Even if nobody spoke, there was still quill scratching, chairs moving, pages flipping. All things that tended to drive her nuts after a while. She loved the absolute silence. Tom indulged her because it meant he didn’t have to deal with anybody else.

Hermione looked up, deep in thought for a moment. “This way,” she murmured and leapt out of her chair. She led him in a wandering path toward the History of Magic section. There at the bottom of a shelf sat several binders filled with newspapers. The spine of each binder had two dates printed on them. They went all the way back to 1743 when the _Daily Prophet_ was created.

“Do you think your own birth would have been announced?” Hermione asked, chewing her bottom lip.

Tom shook his head vehemently. “No, definitely not. My mum died in the orphanage directly after giving birth to me. I would be looking for her birth announcement. Or my grandfather’s marriage announcement.”

“Any idea how old she was when she died?” Hermione asked him.

Shaking his head again, Tom leaned down for the binder that contained newspapers from 1880 through 1881.

“Think that’s too far back?” Hermione asked.

Tom shrugged. “I figure starting sixty years ago could get me information on my grandfather.”

Hermione nodded, looking unsure, but listened to him and made her way back to the table. Tom snatched the book that held the 1881 through 1882 papers as well. He figured if he started as far back as made sense, then he could just keep going through to 1926 when he was born to hopefully find mention of one of them.

Again, the idea of asking one of the professors for help flitted through his mind. Professor Dumbledore probably wasn’t at Hogwarts when his grandfather was, but perhaps he would know his mother? He didn’t even know if she would have gone to Hogwarts. And really, he wouldn’t admit it out loud, but he didn’t even know for sure that his mother’s family _were_ wizards, it was really just a fervent hope. He buried that thought as he made his way back to the table he shared with Hermione.

* * *

_March 1940_

_Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_Hogsmeade, Scotland_

* * *

“What do you think, Granger?” Potter asked during lunch one day in the Great Hall.

“Yes, tell us!” Delacour encouraged.

Tom scowled at them both. They were _always_ trying to get Hermione to talk to them and Hermione was too nice to say otherwise. And he hated when they spoke of the Muggle war that she was so fascinated by.

“Well, I think it’s probably a good thing for Finland,” she replied, dapping her napkin against the corners of her mouth. “They won’t have a war with the Soviet Union now, but I do worry about what Germany’s next steps will be. It’s starting to get warm out, which probably means a lot of campaigns will begin.”

“ _Is_ it a good thing for Finland though?” Delacour asked. “They have ceded land to the Soviets.”

“At least the fighting should be over,” Hermione said. “I guess there’s no guarantee though.”

Tom rolled his eyes and finished his soup. “I’m going to the library,” he muttered and left Hermione there with those to prats to talk about whatever. He tried not to feel upset that she didn’t follow him. He was trying really hard to not be as possessive of her. She had blown up so spectacularly last year about it, that he was working hard on being better about it this year. He thought he had succeeded since they hadn’t even really had an argument this year. Really, he felt like he should be proud of himself, but instead, his stomach felt sour. He hated the way Potter and Delacour always tried to monopolize her time. Didn’t they know that she belonged to Tom?

* * *

_May 1940_

_Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_Hogsmeade, Scotland_

* * *

“There you are,” Hermione said breezily as she dropped into the seat next to Tom in the library. “Have you been here all day?”

“Yes,” Tom replied shortly, he was still scouring newspapers from the 1800s and spent almost all of his free time on the project. Despite the fact that it was finally starting to get nice out in Scotland, Tom had barely been outside. Not even to watch any Quidditch matches.

“Well, have you gotten your Potions essay completed?” Hermione asked, pulling out some parchment from her knapsack.

“Finished it last night,” Tom muttered, as his finger traced along the old newsprint, looking for either Marvolo or Merope. It was all he had to go on.

“Oh,” Hermione said. Tom didn’t notice her dejected tone. “What about your revising schedule? Are you caught up there? Today is…” she paused as she dug out her schedule to double-check, “Herbology. Did you get chapters fifteen through eighteen covered?”

“I did it this morning,” Tom said with a sigh and flipped the page.

“Well, can I help with your research?” Hermione suggested, pushing her parchment to the side and reaching for the other binder of newspaper Tom had on the table.

“No,” Tom snapped, slapping his hand down on hers to halt the process of her dragging the book toward her. “I don’t need any help.”

“I can read just as well as you can,” Hermione hissed, glaring at him. Tom finally looked up at her and was surprised to see hurt in her eyes, but he didn’t want her help. He didn’t want anyone’s help. _He_ wanted to be the one who finally figured out who his family was and while it hurt to have hurt Hermione’s feelings over it, Tom wasn’t sorry.

“I still don’t want your help,” Tom said. Before he could go on to say more, though. Hermione glared and stood abruptly.

“Fine,” she snapped and flounced off around the corner after gathering her belongings.

Tom sighed and ran a hand through his hair. He didn’t like arguing with Hermione and he probably could have handled that better, but at the same time, he was protective over this project. It had occurred to Tom that his family might not be all that savory, and if they weren’t, he didn’t want Hermione knowing about them before him. He assumed they were dead, but if they were anything like some of the purebloods in Slytherin, then he wondered if they were alive and had abandoned him because of his Muggle father? Tom was quite convinced now that his father was a Muggle. Especially since in all his scouring of newspapers the name Tom Riddle hadn’t appeared once either.

Tom finished going through the first book and decided to take a small break and put it back before tackling the second one. Because they were considered reference materials, books full of newspapers weren’t allowed to be checked out. Another reason Tom had been spending all of his free time in the library.

Tom had just placed the book back when he heard Hermione giggle. He frowned because he assumed she would have left the library after he brushed her off, but apparently he hadn’t.

He turned the corner around a bookshelf full of Potions text to find her and Potter sitting at a table. Hermione laughed again at something Potter said. It was clear they were working on their Potions essay. The one Tom had completed already. He scowled at them both and stormed by their table, kicking a leg of it as he went past.

“Hey!” Potter half-shouted after him.

“Leave it, Monty,” Hermione said, “he’s in a foul mood.”

The anger that built in Tom’s chest at her words threatened to explode out in a bout of accidental magic. His fingers were fairly crackling with excess energy. Tom turned and ran from the library entirely. He managed to make it to an empty classroom before he hexed a desk. He didn’t know too many curses or hexes but decided right then that in addition to looking for his family, he needed to learn more offensive spells. He’d love to smash the room the smithereens, but with his limited knowledge, the most he could do was levitate furniture and let it drop to the ground, smashing into pieces. It was effective if a bit of a letdown.

* * *

_June 1940_

_Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_Hogsmeade, Scotland_

* * *

By the time term had ended and Tom and Hermione were packing up their belongings to go back to London, Tom’s frustration was bubbling over. Every slight was a huge provocation. He felt like a pot on the cooker, ready to boil over at any moment. Not even Hermione was safe from his wrath. She’d been avoiding him since their tiff in the library almost a month and a half prior.

He knew attempting to look at newspapers for the last sixty-odd years was going to be a daunting task, but he hadn’t counted on barely reaching the 1900s by the end of the year. There were still another twenty-six years of daily newspapers to go through until his birth and thus far there hadn’t been a single mention of either Marvolo or Merope. It was tedious, skimming that much newsprint that he considered possibly attempting to find a spell that would search text based on a word. He had to assume something like that had been created, but thus far, he had come up empty with that project as well.

It wasn’t until they were on the Hogwarts Express, the train actually moving, that Hermione spoke to him.

“Are you planning to act this way all summer?” she asked quietly. She was watching him carefully and Tom hated it. He hated that she was tip-toeing around him and he hated, even more, the amount of anger and frustration he was bottling up.

“No,” Tom spat and glared out the window. He didn’t know how to tell her what the problem was. He didn’t want to think that this was the end of their friendship, but the thought had crossed his mind.

Hermione heaved a huge sigh. She frowned at him and crossed the compartment to sit next to him. She picked up his hand in hers and traced the delicate bones on the back of it.

“Tom, you can’t just bottle up your emotions. You have to talk to someone about it, please,” Hermione said quietly. “You don’t have to look at me, just _talk_ to me. Tell me what’s going on.”

Tom sighed and leaned his forehead against the cool window. The Scottish countryside blended into the English one as he began talking about his project and how frustrated it made him. He even spoke about his fears of finding out who his true family was.

“What if I’m related to the Lestranges or something?” Tom asked quietly.

“Well, you’re a farsight more pleasant to look at than Rufus Lestrange,” Hermione said primly.

Tom snickered and then sighed. He did feel better for having discussed it with Hermione.

“Do you still want to keep looking next year?” Hermione asked.

Tom nodded. “I _have_ to know who they are.”

“Alright,” she replied lightly. She didn’t say anything else, just held his hand and Tom couldn’t help but think about how perfect she was. Perfect for him.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **I really couldn't have done this without the magnificent infallible angel for her excellent alpha/beta skills.**
> 
> **If you love this (or hate it) please let me know about in a review! Find me on Tumblr at crochetawayhpff. Enjoy!**

_blitz - the german air raids on Britain in 1940-1941_

* * *

_June 1940_

_Wool’s Orphanage_

_Central London, England_

* * *

Anyway Hermione looked at it, living in the orphanage was much different than her life before the orphanage. There wasn’t much in the way of treats and that proved to be exceptionally true the summer after the war had begun. Rationing was in effect, all meat, butter, sugar, tea, and even margarine were on the list. Which meant they ended up eating a lot of potatoes.

“Do you think the orphanage will fail?” Hermione asked Tom one day after lunch. All they’d had for lunch that day was boiled potatoes and stale bread and Hermione was still hungry. She longed for any other vegetable.

“I don’t see how it could,” Tom replied. “Isn’t it guaranteed by the government?”

“I have no idea how orphanages work,” Hermione responded glumly. “I suspect that it’s a little bit of both: government handouts and charity from regular people. Who was Wool? Why was the orphanage named after him?”

Tom shook his head. “They never told us anything about the orphanage or how it was founded. Hopefully, the war won’t last long,” Tom replied and pulled Hermione in for a hug. She was surprised at the show of affection, and heat bloomed in her chest in response. She was sure that Tom was going to call her a _marshmallow_ again for whining about the rations. She cuddled into his side for a long moment, just pleased that they weren’t fighting anymore.

A few weeks later, Hermione was looking for Tom. He wasn’t in any of his usual haunts around the orphanage, not classrooms, empty for the summer, nor the small room that was used for the library, or the playroom, or his room. He wasn’t in the courtyard either. And he was finished with work for the day. The grocer only had him work through lunchtime most days.

It wasn’t until she decided to look in the administration wing of the building that she tracked him down. He was in Mrs Cole’s office and Hermione’s heart stopped. Had he done something to get in trouble? Were they going to send him away? Panic overwhelmed her and she burst through the door of the office, without knocking.

“Tom, are you alright?” Hermione asked. Tom’s face was a stormcloud. He glared at Mrs Cole and stood from his chair.

“It’s fine,” he snapped, shoving past Hermione and to the door.

“Tom is just upset that I don’t know more about his family,” Mrs Cole said quietly. “Unfortunately, his mother was only here for a few days before she gave birth.”

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief and thanked Mrs Cole. Then she went to go find Tom to calm him down. She could understand how frustrated he was that his search was coming up futile.

This time she found Tom in their room, sulking. He was doing a lot of that this summer.

“You knew she didn’t know anything,” Hermione said quietly.

“I had to ask again,” Tom snapped, slamming the book he was leafing through closed. “What are you doing here?”

Hermione lifted her eyebrows and propped her hands on her hips. “I’m here to try and figure out why you’re being such a moody bugger.”

“How could you even possibly understand what I’m going through?” Tom hissed, he stood and Hermione frowned when she realized he was taller than her. When did that happen?

“I know you’re frustrated—”

“I’m not frustrated. I’m infuriated. How could the orphanage have kept such poor records? They should have known everything there was to know about my mother.”

Hermione glared. She hated when he interrupted her.

“And yet, you haven’t bothered to ask a single person at Hogwarts about your family,” Hermione replied. “Maybe you should start with the people you clearly _want_ your family to be since you seem so upset about being related to Muggles.”

Tom sighed with frustration. “It’s not just the Muggle thing,” he said. “The sorting hat told me that I was the heir.”

“The heir? What in the world does that mean?” Hermione asked.

“That’s what I’m trying to find out.”

“Well, it wanted to put you in Slytherin, right? Are you somehow related to Salazar Slytherin?”

“Even if I was, how on earth would the sorting hat know that?”

“Magic?” Hermione suggested with a half-smile.

Tom snorted and Hermione’s grin widened. She had somehow gotten him into a better mood.

“Let’s ask someone when we go back in September. I bet Dumbledore knows all about them and just has never put it together. Or maybe your middle name doesn’t appear anywhere in the Hogwarts rolls?” Hermione suggested.

“Maybe,” Tom tentatively agreed. Hermione chalked it up to a win in her column.

* * *

_July 1940_

_Wool’s Orphanage_

_Central London, England_

* * *

“I’m excited to see the sea again!” Hermione said as she bounced up and down on the train seat next to Tom.

“I can see that,” Tom muttered, his head still buried in a book. A new shipment of books had miraculously come into the orphanage the week before and Tom and Hermione were both steadily making their way through the new additions.

“I know you’d rather sit inside and read,” Hermione replied, “but come on, it’s a new city to explore! You have to be a little excited about it.”

“I’m moderately excited,” Tom said without looking up.

Hermione gave it up as a bad job and continued watching the countryside stream past. They were headed to Cardiff. A wealthy donor offered a trip for the older students, the donor owned several steel mills in the area and was hoping to attract some of the older boys to come and work in them once they were old enough. Hermione didn’t really care about the particulars since they didn’t apply to her in any way, but she was excited about the trip. She’d never been to Cardiff or to Wales before.

By the time the train arrived in Cardiff, it was mid-morning and Hermione was practically bouncing on her heels. They were given leave to explore the dock and shore area for a few hours before being bidden to meet at a cafe a few blocks inland for a late lunch. Hermione grinned at Mrs Cole’s instructions and looped her arm through Tom’s, dragging him along with her. She didn’t care about the docks or anything, she just wanted to see the sea again.

“It’s a bay, Hermione,” Tom said. “Not the open ocean. It won’t be like at Dover.”

“I don’t care. I love the way the sea air smells,” Hermione replied.

They managed to find a small park that bordered the dock area and Hermione settled herself and Tom under a tree, blocking most of the bright sun. It was monstrously hot and there was not much of a breeze. Tom had his head buried back in his book again, but Hermione just sat and watched the boats come in and leave. Despite the heat, it was peaceful. She smiled happily, it was almost like being back at Hogwarts. She could forget about the orphanage and the war for a little while and just breathe.

“What’s that sound?” Tom asked distractedly. Hermione opened her eyes and glanced at him. He hadn’t even bothered to look up from his book.

“What sound? I don’t hear anything.”

“That high-pitched whining. You don’t hear that?” Tom frowned, finally looking up at her.

Hermione shook her head, but then stopped. She did hear it. It was like a mechanical buzzing.

“What is that?”

Tom shook his head and stood, striding forward until he was at the railing that prevented people from falling into the water. Hermione joined him. “Is that an airplane? Why is it flying so low?”

Just as she said it, more airplanes appeared on the horizon.

“I don’t know, but it can’t be good,” Tom said.

“You don’t think—” Hermione cut herself off as something long fell out of the nearest airplane and a ship down the ways at the dock exploded.

“RUN!” Tom shouted, grabbing Hermione’s wrist and pulling her after him. They dashed through the park and toward the city proper. More explosions rocketed behind them and Hermione wanted to cover her ears with her hands at the noise, but she couldn’t. All she could do was grip Tom’s hand and follow him. Her heart raced in time with her feet and she knew that she had never known terror like this before. They made it several blocks inland before the streets started to fill with other people trying to get away from the docks.

“It’s just the docks!”

“Get inland!”

“RUN!”

The screaming that rent the air was both human and machine made as bombs continued to fall around them. Hermione wanted to look back. She _needed_ to look back, but every time she tried, Tom just yanked on her arm harder. She knew that looking back was death, but the impulse didn’t want to leave her.

“FUCK!” Tom screamed, drawing up short. Hermione ran into his back and looked up. The cafe they were supposed to meet the others at was on fire and the facade half crumbling in.

“We have to keep going, Tom. Get further inland,” she said, urging him forward. Tom stood for a long moment, as the cafe burned.

“Do you think…” he trailed off.

“Even if there were Wool’s people in there, we can’t save them,” Hermione pleaded with him. She was terrified, she hated this, hated everything about it and she just wanted to get away. Finally, Tom nodded and moved forward with her. After a few moments, an older woman was standing in the street, urging people into her house.

“I have a cellar, an old Roman cellar,” she shouted. “Safe from bombs!” Tom and Hermione exchanged a look before hurrying to get a spot in the cellar. The old woman smiled kindly at them, as she patted Hermione’s back and ushered them into the house. They descended more steps than Hermione’s fractured mind could count before they entered a low-ceilinged, brick-lined room. There were at least fifty other people present and Tom pulled her along an inner wall. They both slid down to sit, with Tom’s arm around her shoulders.

They sat there for hours with other strangers. Nobody spoke. It was deathly quiet except for when a bomb dropped. Then it was deafening. Hermione curled into Tom’s side, shoving her hands over her ears as Tom held her close. It was horrifying and she just wanted it to end.

It occurred to Hermione that _this_ was war. That those airplanes dropping bombs were manned by the same people who killed her parents. The thought both sickened and terrified her.

“Come on,” Tom finally said. He gently pulled her hands from her ears and Hermione looked up from where she had pressed her face into Tom’s chest. “Bombings over. Nothing for the last thirty minutes or so.”

Hermione nodded and gladly accepted Tom’s hand to help her stand. She wiped her eyes, willing the tears away. It was stupid to cry about something she couldn’t help, but the whole experience had been too awful for words. All she wanted to do was to go back home to Hogwarts, but there was still a month and a half for that. What would happen to them if London was bombed? If Wool’s was hit while they were there? Being a witch wouldn’t save her from bombs falling from the sky. She certainly didn’t know enough magic to stop a bomb.

The devastation of Cardiff was awful. Half the buildings they passed were shells of themselves and rubble was everywhere. She and Tom carefully picked their way through the streets as injured people wandered around. The wailing when a dead body was found was more than Hermione could handle. It took twice as long as it should, but they finally reached the bombed-out cafe they were planning to meet Mrs Cole. She almost sobbed with relief when she saw a dirty and bedraggled Mrs Cole standing there.

“Tom! Hermione!” Mrs Cole shouted upon seeing them and raced forward, enveloping them both in a hug. “Thank God you are both alright.”

Tom stiffened in her embrace, but Hermione hugged her back. She was glad to see an adult. Glad that perhaps they would get out of this hellscape soon.

“Mr Charles has found us a local hotel that wasn’t hit. It’s seven blocks from here, but we can stay there for the night before making our way back to London in the morning,” Mrs Cole explained. “We were lucky,” she indicated the rest of the orphans, “we were near Mr Charles’s factory and he gave us shelter. I’m so glad you two are safe.”

Hermione smiled tremulously at Mrs Cole. She just wanted this awful day to be over. Tom was quiet and Hermione shot a worried glance at him. His face was neutral but covered in dust. She assumed she didn’t look much better as they joined the group. The walk to the hotel was interminable. The light was quickly fading and Hermione was so tired. She kept stumbling over rubble in the street. She was grateful for Tom, as he patiently helped her along, never once barking at her like he would have done any other day.

“I’m sorry,” Hermione whispered after she’d tripped twice in a row.

“It’s fine,” Tom said. “Take your time. The hotel will wait.”

“I-I—” Hermione stopped talking as tears overwhelmed her again. A wail went up from further down the street, indicating another dead body had been found and soon Hermione was sobbing. Tom stopped walking and wrapped both arms around her, holding her to him as she cried. She felt stupid and weak, but everything was so bloody awful.

“Come along!” Mrs Cole shouted from halfway up the block.

“You can cry when we get to the hotel,” Tom whispered into her ear. “I’ll hold you all night if I have to, but please, let’s get going.”

Hermione nodded, sniffling into his shoulder and trying to get herself under control. Finally, after several shaky breaths, she felt like she could keep going.

There were only two rooms available for the fifteen of them. Mrs Cole stayed with the girls, and the boys were in a separate room, with Hermione. Hermione refused to be separated from Tom and the girls refused to allow Tom in their room. Hermione didn’t mind. She and Tom sat in the far corner of the boy's room with a spare blanket over them both.

Tom was true to his word and held her all night. After a long while, Hermione finally dropped into an exhausted sleep, her head pillowed on Tom’s lap. Judging by the circles under Tom’s eyes when she woke up the next morning, she was pretty sure Tom didn’t sleep at all.

The train back to London took twice as long as the train to Cardiff and Tom was quiet the entire time. He didn’t even bother reading the book he’d miraculously held onto throughout the whole ordeal. His gaze was fixed at a middle distance the entire train ride, clearly deep in thought. Hermione wanted to ask him about it but decided he needed time to process everything that happened, so she just held his hand the entire way.

* * *

_September 1940_

_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_Hogsmeade, Scotland_

* * *

The last few weeks at Wool’s after the bombing of Cardiff were tense. Everyone at the orphanage braced themselves for bombs to fall over London, but they never came. It felt as if they were holding their breath, just waiting, and the weather didn’t help. It was hot and humid the entire summer long, with very little rain.

By the time Hermione and Tom were back on the Hogwarts Express bound for Scotland, it was a relief to leave the orphanage. She felt terrible for everyone who had to stay in London, waiting for the war to reach them. Last year, the war had seemed so far removed from Britain and Hermione, and this year, it felt real. Too real.

Tom hardly spoke these days and Hermione tried her best to give him space, but all she wanted was to talk to him about the bombing, the war, how she was feeling about it, everything. But she kept her mouth shut and followed his lead. She was terrified she was going to do something to anger him and then he wouldn’t talk to her at all for months. He was silent and stiff, sitting across from her with his eyes watching the countryside go by. She couldn’t abandon Tom. He was her only friend. So she stayed and was glad for it. Almost halfway into the trip, he relaxed slightly, almost imperceptibly. Hermione wouldn’t have even noticed if she hadn’t been studying how tense his shoulders were. They eased downward just slightly as he shifted in his seat and leaned into the seatback, just a little more.

“What?” Tom asked, catching Hermione staring at him.

Hermione just shook her head and smiled. She was hoping to have her friend back, and perhaps he would be entirely back to normal by the time they reached Hogwarts.

* * *

_October 1940_

_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_Hogsmeade, Scotland_

* * *

Third year afforded the opportunity to take additional classes and Tom and Hermione both had trouble deciding which ones to take. On one hand, Tom wanted to know everything about everything, but there wasn’t room in their schedule to take every class that Hogwarts offered. After much back and forth, Tom and Hermione decided to stick together and take Arithmancy and Ancient Runes. Hermione had to take Comportment and Etiquette while Tom was mandated to take Governance and Leadership. Tom was looking forward to what Governance and Leadership would entail, but he knew that Hermione was dreading Comportment and Etiquette. He didn’t blame her, it sounded terribly dull.

With the heavier class load, Tom was still able to continue researching his family in the annals of the _Daily Prophet_. It was a rainy Saturday in October when Hermione thumped down a very large tome on his desk in the library. It was so big the whole table shook and a small dust cloud was emitted upon impact.

“What’s this?” Tom asked when she pushed it toward him. He sneezed three times in a row and was annoyed with the dust.

“ _Tergeo_ ,” Hermione muttered and flicked all the dust in the air away.

“Thanks,” Tom replied. “Is that one of your C&E spells?”

Hermione rolled her eyes and nodded. “Some aren’t entirely useless.”

Tom snorted and pulled the book closer to him.

“It’s a Wizarding Genealogy. Printed in 1915, it will hopefully include your family if they were pure-blood. It might even include well-known half-blood families,” Hermione explained. “Another thing learned in C&E, apparently, all good wizarding families own one of these, and the pricier versions have an auto-update feature, where as marriages, births, deaths happen, they appear in the book. This one doesn’t though, Hogwarts went cheap for their version.”

“‘All good wizarding families?’ Is that the sort of tripe you’re learning in C&E?” Tom asked. He was disgusted, what a waste of a class. What a waste of time, especially for someone as bright as Hermione.

Hermione hummed her agreement. “Yep, it’s been made quite clear to me as a Muggleborn that I do not fit into their mold and should keep my mouth shut.”

“Godric, that’s awful,” Tom said. “Well in G&L we learn all about how to be Masters of the Universe.”

“‘Masters of the Universe?’” Hermione asked in the same incredulous tone Tom had just used moments before.

“Uh-huh, Professor Belort even used that phrase the first day of class.”

“Well, you become the Master of the Universe, and I’ll learn how to take wine stains out of the tablecloths. Although, according to Professor Delente you really should have house-elves for that.” Hermione rolled her eyes and Tom snickered. “Do you want help?” she offered, gesturing toward the book.

Tom shook his head. “No, I’ll look on my own, thank you though.”

Hermione nodded, seeming to accept that he wanted to do this by himself. The genealogy was perfect and Tom was disappointed that he hadn’t thought of it himself. If he was related to Salazar Slytherin, perhaps the genealogy would show all of Slytherins line. If it went back that far.

* * *

_November 1940_

_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_Hogsmeade, Scotland_

* * *

The genealogy Hermione had pulled for him hadn’t yielded any results, but Tom found out that it wasn’t the only genealogy in the Hogwarts library. Professor Belort had mentioned that genealogies dating from the Founders time were in the Restricted Section. As a third year, Tom knew he had little hope of getting a pass into the Restricted Section, but he had found an interesting loophole to retrieving books.

“ _Accio_ _Leviosa_ ‘Hogwarts Founders: An Origin Story’ by Arthur C. Clark,” Tom whispered, with his wand pointed at the Restricted Section. A huge tome slowly rose from its shelf in the Restricted Section and landed softly on Tom’s desk. He had to be careful that Madam Bagnole didn’t see him doing it or catch him with the book, but so far, he’d been lucky.

“Did that just float out of the Restricted Section?” Hermione asked as she returned to the table from the Potions section. “Have you learned a new spell and been holding out on me? Tom!”

“It’s easy,” Tom replied. “It’s a modified Summoning spell, which actually is actually a fourth year spell. I added the modification.”

“Teach it to me,” Hermione demanded. Tom smirked and indulged her, letting her practice books they were quite familiar with in the un-restricted portion of the library.

“How do you summon them from the Restricted Section?” Hermione asked after she had mastered the spell, almost as quickly as Tom had mastered it.

“You have to know the full title and who the author is,” Tom replied. “Which can be tricky, because there isn’t a reference book that we have access to for all the tomes listed in the Restricted Section.”

“Then how did you know that one was in there?” Hermione asked.

Tom smiled. “I asked Professor Delente. I told her I was interested in Wizarding genealogy and that a classmate had told me they discussed them in C&E.”

Hermione looked at him approvingly. “Sneaky, but I like it. I want to summon something from the Restricted Section.”

“Maybe you should try summoning the index book,” Tom suggested. Hermione gave him a look, so he went on. “The index book for the Restricted Section. It’s the book that houses the name and author of every book there. It’s to static to have an actual card catalogue.” Tom stood and pointed to a podium just past the gate that marked the entrance of the Restricted Section. “See, there it is.”

Hermione looked at the book, which was chained to the podium and whispered, “ _Alohomora._ ” The lock on the chains sprang open and they slid to the floor with a dull clunk.

“Are you going to know how to lock those again?” Tom whispered and Hermione shrugged in reply.

“ _Accio Leviosa Restricted Section Index Book_ ,” Hermione intoned and the book rose from the podium and slid onto the desk in front of them.

“Well done,” Tom said proudly. Hermione beamed at him. “I think you’ll have twenty minutes tops with it before Madame Bagnole makes her way back here. Make it useful.”

Hermione nodded and began skimming through the book while writing down titles and authors on a spare bit of parchment.

“There,” Tom said, pointing to the Algiz rune, “I bet that means it’s stored with a lock. You should note those because they probably can’t be summoned without first unlocking them—”

“Which I can’t do, if I can’t see the book,” Hermione interrupted with a quick nod. She went back over her notes and crossed out a handful of books, before adding even more to the list. Tom read over her shoulder, she was writing down mostly spell and potions books.

“Alright,” Tom said after twenty minutes. “Let’s put it back so we don’t get into trouble.” Hermione nodded and levitated the book back to the podium.

“ _Colloportus_ ,” she whispered and Tom was impressed to see the chains slithered back up the podium and the lock spring into place just as Madam Bagnole turned the corner. She gave Hermione a suspicious look.

“Just practicing a wand movement,” Hermione whispered while practicing the movement for a cheering charm.

Madam Bagnole glared and Hermione gave her a small smile and hastily tucked her wand away.

The moment Madam Bagnole was out of sight, Hermione whirled around to find Tom reviewing her list.

“Which should I get first?” Hermione asked.

“This one, _Moste Olde and Anciente Curses_ ,” Tom said, pointing to one halfway down the list.

“Curses? I guess. I was thinking one of the potions books.”

“Well, I think trying to find old, out of date spells could be useful.”

“Why? If nobody uses them, then what good are they?”

“If nobody uses them, then they won’t expect them, Hermione. Besides, there is a war in the Muggle world, the world we live in for two months out of the year. We have to be able to protect ourselves.”

“We can’t use magic against Muggles! Or outside of school!” Hermione hissed.

“We can if they are killing us,” Tom snapped. “Besides, what would happen if the whole orphanage got bombed? You get that Muggle paper, there’s a blitz going on in London right now. It could still be going on when we get back there in June.”

Hermione bit her lip as she mulled over Tom’s arguments. “Maybe we should as if we can stay at Hogwarts this summer? Where are the refugees from Europe staying? Perhaps we can ask Professor Dumbledore if we can stay with them?” Hermione suggested.

Tom sighed. “Let’s worry about it in June. Until then, I still think we should try to find some out of use spells. Maybe something will be helpful.”

Hermione nodded and summoned the book Tom indicated. He took a deep breath and got back to his genealogy book.

* * *

_December 1940_

_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_Hogsmeade, Scotland_

* * *

Tom was pleased when even Delacour found a place to go over the Christmas holidays. The insufferable Potter was hosting him, which meant Tom had his dorm to himself again. And it meant that neither he nor Hermione had to suffer looks from Delacour or anyone else for sharing a bed. It was the best part of Tom’s year, Christmas and Easter holidays when Hermione slept in his bed with him. He finally felt totally at ease, knowing she was safe with him.

Although, he knew the time was coming that it would quickly be deemed inappropriate if any of the professors found out. Tom hoped that wouldn’t happen and not having witnesses was a key part in that. Perhaps he ought to find a cloaking spell that Hermione could use. He would have to look into it.

“Tom?” Hermione whispered the first night of the holiday. The door opened to Hermione wrapped in her school robe.

“I was just going to bed,” Tom replied, patting the bed next to him. She smiled that brilliant smile at him, the one that made his heart beat just a little faster and quickly got into the bed between him and the wall. He doused the lights in the room and pulled the bed curtains closed before snuggling down next to her. He never slept as well as he did when she was beside him.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **All of the thanks in the world to infallible angel and her excellent alpha/beta skills.**
> 
> **If you love this (or hate it) please let me know about in a review! Find me on Tumblr at crochetawayhpff. Enjoy!**

_blitz - an intense campaign_

* * *

_February 1941_

_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_Hogsmeade, Scotland_

* * *

Hermione was having trouble not using sources she found in the Restricted Section in her essays for class. She spent so much time on her extracurricular research that she had to carefully comb each essay she wrote for anything that she shouldn’t know. It was tiresome, but she felt like Alice gone down the rabbit hole and couldn’t seem to stop herself from spending every spare moment in the library.

She’d found lost spells, hexes, jinxes and curses, but her favorites were lost potions. Many were clearly forerunners to modern potions, but others had become lost due to ingredient rarity. Those, in particular, Hermione was interested in. Perhaps she could attempt to brew them if she found the right ingredient or set of ingredients to substitute for the ingredients that could no longer be found.

“Which one?” Tom’s nose scrunched as he read through the book on beauty potions from the mid-fifteenth century.

“This one,” Hermione pointed to. The potion made perfect curls, but it required the essence of ghoul forcibly taken, which was not only disgusting and particularly hard to come by, but also illegal. Ghouls were classified as Beasts per the seminal work of Newt Scamander, which meant forcibly taking anything from them was quite illegal. Which was actually why this potion suited her purposes, Hermione had no plans to use anything from either being, beast, or creature that wasn’t freely given.

“Your hair is fine,” Tom said blandly.

Hermione laughed. “According to Professor Delente, it’s positively dreadful. But that’s not the point.”

Tom raised his left eyebrow at her. Hermione frowned and wondered when he had learned to do that.

“The point is to ask Professor Slughorn about it, and perhaps get a pass to the Restricted Section,” Hermione said triumphantly.

“You brilliant, wild-haired witch.” Tom grinned at her.

“Don’t tell me you were actually nervous I was turning into one of those twits in my dorm, were you?” Hermione asked. Tom shook his head, but she wasn’t quite sure she believed him.

“The bonus is that if I do get the pass and I can make the potion, Slughorn will undoubtedly give me extra credit for it,” Hermione said. “Putting me over you in that class.”

Tom rolled his eyes. “I won’t even fight if that happens. The pass to the Restricted Section will be worth losing to you in _one_ class.”

“Please, don’t forget that I topped you in three classes last year.”

“I topped you in three, which makes us even,” Tom reminded her.

“Maybe,” Hermione replied. “You probably will have me beat this year,” she replied, turning sullen. “Delente _hates_ me and probably wouldn’t give me full-marks on anything even if it was perfect. She’d mark me down just for being Muggleborn.”

“What a hag.”

“On that, we can agree,” Hermione said.

* * *

Three days later, Hermione stayed late after potions class to speak with Professor Slughorn. She waved Tom on as she slowly packed up her things.

“Can I do something for you, Miss Granger?” Slughorn asked, giving Hermione the perfect introduction.

“Actually, you can, Professor,” Hermione replied. She pulled the potions recipe she had written down on a spare bit of parchment out of her bag and handed it to him. “I was hoping to make this potion, for my hair, you see,” Hermione said, fingering her bushy locks. “But essence of ghoul, forcibly taken is not an ingredient I can use with a good conscience.”

“Not to mention, dastardly difficult to procure,” Slughorn added, nodding along. “Where did you come by this potion? Essence of ghoul stopped being a fashionable potion ingredient at least three hundred years ago.”

“It was an old book from one of my dormmates,” Hermione said. “Professor Delente has been on me about my hair, and my dormmates took pity on me. I would like to try and mimic the effects of this potion, with a _different_ ingredient, but from what I can find, all of the potions texts that discuss ingredient swapping are in the Restricted Section, reserved for the sixth and seventh years.”

“Indeed they are. And with good reason, experimenting with potions can be quite the tricky business, you know. Is young Tom Riddle helping you with this project?”

Hermione shook her head and tried to look bashful, she couldn’t quite call up a blush on command, but she hoped it would suffice.

“Ah, young love. Well, in that case, I’ll give you a pass to the Restricted Section, only to look at the sixth and seventh-year potions texts, mind. In return, I would like you to report back to me on your findings and I’ll help you brew the potion if we find a suitable replacement for essence of ghoul.”

Hermione was gobsmacked. He thought she wanted to use the potion to make Tom love her? She shook her head, baffled at the things adults thought. “Tom and I are just friends, Professor Slughorn. But I will report back with my findings. Could you possibly point me in a direction as to where I would find the effects of essence of ghoul so that I can try to figure out a replacement?”

“For now,” Slughorn said, tapping his nose knowingly and handing her the pass he’d written up on a spare bit of parchment. “Find Chekhov’s treatise on ancient and rare potion ingredients. It should be in the seventh year section.”

Hermione nodded and thanked him before leaving the room, completely disgusted. Did Professor Slughorn really think that she and Tom were interested in each other that way? They were far too young for that.

* * *

_April 1941_

_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_Hogsmeade, Scotland_

* * *

Slughorn’s note provided Hermione with the access she needed to not only complete the little side project that Slughorn had assigned her, but also access to everything else. Once she was back there, she could read any book. She dragged her feet on the assignment with Slughorn in order to keep the pass as long as possible and she and Tom spent every moment they could in the library, trying to take as much advantage as they could. Tom technically wasn’t allowed in the Restricted Section with her, but Madam Bagnole had believed him when he told her that Hermione needed the help searching for the right books for her project.

It still boggled Hermione’s mind the way people fell for Tom’s charm. She had never fallen for it and he didn’t even bother trying it on her now. The few times he had, she’d told him he was being fake and he stopped immediately. It wasn’t just the professors and staff who fell for his charm, students did all the time. Hermione was disliked in her dormitory because she was a Muggleborn. But Tom was adored by the boys in his dorm and Hermione had chalked it up to his charm. He could charm anything and frankly, it wasn’t fair.

“Ah, Miss Granger, please stay after class,” Slughorn announced just as he dismissed the rest of the students. Hermione grabbed Tom’s arm and silently asked him to stay too. She had a thought that Tom would probably be able to wrangle more time in the Restricted Section. Hermione had completed her project with Slughorn, and if he accepted her changes, he would allow her to start brewing the potion. It was a stupid potion, but Hermione was excited to see what the effects would be. It would be her first potion experiment and if it went well, she had at least four other potions lined up after that. They weren’t as innocuous as the hair smoothing potion she was working on now; she’d have to experiment on those on her own.

“You can go on to lunch, Mr Riddle,” Slughorn said, dismissing Tom.

“I’d rather wait for Hermione if that’s alright Professor. I can wait outside if you prefer?”

“Oh, no, in that case, please stay,” Professor Slughorn said, winking at Tom. “Now, Miss Granger, what are your findings?”

Hermione handed him a sheet of parchment with her notes laid out in meticulous order. “The essence of ghoul was used as a stabilizer,” Hermione began. She launched into her explanation of other stabilizers and what effects they would have on the other ingredients in the potion before handing Slughorn another sheet of parchment. This one had an updated potions recipe using horned slugs for the stabilizer while reducing the number of rose hips and increasing the number of mistletoe berries.

Slughorn studied both parchments for a long while after she stopped talking, his face was concentrated and Hermione hoped that it meant he was taking her seriously and not just indulging her whims for a hair potion.

“Miss Granger,” Professor Slughorn began, but then shook his head. “This is _exemplary_ work for a third year. Just exemplary. I am quite impressed. Let’s set a time to brew this potion, eh?”

Hermione beamed at him. “Of course, sir.”

“Sir,” Tom said after Hermione and Slughorn had agreed on a time to begin the brew of the new hair potion. “With Hermione’s work, perhaps she could keep the pass to the Restricted Section to begin reworking a different potion.”

“A splendid idea, Mr Riddle. I am quite impressed with the pair of you. So bright! So studious! Now, I normally don’t ask for students as young as you, but you are quite astounding. I’m having a little gathering just before the end of the school year. The Slug Club, I like to call it, in which I gather other students of your caliber, both current and former. It’s a great way to network. You two are a bit young for it, but I think you’d benefit greatly. What do you say?”

Hermione was dumbstruck. The Slug Club was whispered about, but nobody ever spoke to third years about it. It was only for those in the fifth year and above.

“We’d be delighted,” Tom replied for the both of them. He gathered Hermione’s things and swung her bag over his shoulder. She narrowed her eyes at him. Since when did he carry her things?

“Excellent! Quite excellent! I will see you on Saturday, Miss Granger!” Slughorn ushered them out of the classroom and Hermione whirled on Tom.

“Do you have to give him the impression we’re romantically involved?” she hissed, snatching her bag from his shoulder and putting it on her own.

“If it helps smooth the waves, I don’t see what the issue is,” Tom replied. “You’re welcome for getting your pass extended to the Restricted Section. I assume that _was_ the role I was supposed to play in all of that?”

Hermione gave him a sharp nod and let out a heavy breath through her nose. “Yes, well thank you for that, at least. I can’t believe he invited us to the Slug Club.”

“I can,” Tom said proudly. “You’re brilliant and he knows it, although…”

“I would not have been invited if you hadn’t been there, I’m aware,” Hermione said dryly as they made their way out of the dungeon and up to the Great Hall for lunch. “Girls aren’t invited to Slug Club unless they are dates. I know my place in this world.”

Tom nodded. “Chafe’s though, doesn’t it?”

“Yes,” Hermione said bitterly. “I’m smarter than almost everyone else in our year, and yet side-lined because of my sex. It’s as frustrating in the wizarding world as it is in the Muggle one.”

“Could we change it, you think?” Tom asked quietly. “Could we work hard and breakthrough to the upper echelons of wizarding society?”

“Not unless you actually do find out you are a hidden pureblood or related to Salazar Slytherin, although I can’t help but think that being related to Godric Gryffindor would do far more good for the world than Slytherin.”

“Maybe in this cloistered part of the world that is school,” Tom replied. “But out in the real world, the people who run the wizarding world are all from pureblood families.”

Hermione nodded. “Doubly disadvantaged then. At least I have you,” she said and grinned up at him.

Tom rolled his eyes but slung an arm around her shoulders. “You’ll always have me.”

* * *

_June 1941_

_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_Hogsmeade, Scotland_

* * *

“We should make an appointment with Headmaster Dippet,” Hermione said to Tom one day a few weeks before the end of year exams commenced.

“We have an appointment scheduled with him tomorrow,” Tom replied absentmindedly. They were in the courtyard for once, enjoying the sunshine.

“Think of everything, don’t you?” Hermione asked sarcastically as she took a break from her reading and watched a couple of fourth years play Gobstones.

“I try,” Tom said drolly.

The following day, Hermione and Tom made their way to the fifth floor where the headmaster’s office was located. Hermione was nervous about the meeting the headmaster, she’d never been to his office and the excitement of seeing a new part of the castle was outweighed by her attack of nerves.

“It’ll be fine,” Tom murmured as they reached the gargoyle statue that guarded the headmaster’s office. “He’ll have to let us stay in the face of war.”

It was not fine.

Headmaster Dippet was suitably apologetic, but could not offer them a place to stay over the summer holidays.

“It’s the only time our professors get a break,” he explained patiently. “I’m afraid it would be quite impossible.”

“Please reconsider,” Hermione said. “Tom and I are thirteen, almost fourteen, we wouldn’t be any trouble.”

“I’m afraid I can’t, Miss Granger.”

“You are sentencing us to death,” Tom hissed suddenly. Hermione turned to look at him with alarm. “There is a blitz going on in London right now, do you know what that means? Have you ever seen an airplane drop a bomb and the devastation it leaves? It’s worse than an Exploding Charm. It leaves devastation everywhere and being underage wizards, we can’t even protect ourselves from it. You are sending us to live back in a war zone.”

“Tom,” Hermione said, reaching an arm out to try and placate him. She glanced at Dippet from the corner of her eye and he was frowning harshly at Tom.

“I can’t allow you to stay,” Dippet said more firmly. “The school governors won’t allow it.”

“Because we’re Muggleborn,” Tom spat. He stood up and stormed from the office muttering under his breath angrily. Hermione looked between his retreating figure and Dippet for a moment before making her excuses to Dippet.

“We were caught in the Cardiff Blitz last summer,” Hermione explained. “It was quite traumatic. I’m sorry to have taken up your time, Headmaster.” Then she followed Tom.

By the time she caught up with him, he was down by Black Lake. He’d walked halfway around the lake until he was in a spot between the lake and the Forbidden Forest, where there weren’t any other students.

“ _Bombarda_!” he shouted at a nearby hawthorn tree, standing still as it exploded outward around him.

“Tom,” Hermione called as soon as she got close enough. She didn’t want to startle him, in case he hexed first and asked questions later. His shoulders slumped at her voice, but he didn’t turn around to face her, so Hermione made her way to him. She had to pick her way carefully among the downed branches and splintered wood.

“It’ll be alright,” Hermione said when she reached him, placing a hand on his forearm.

“We should run away and spend the summer outside of London.”

“And where would we go? We don’t have enough money to sustain ourselves elsewhere,” Hermione said. “Or are you expecting two city kids to figure out how to camp and sleep rough for two months?”

“If we have to,” Tom snapped.

“You know that isn’t reasonable. There hasn’t been a blitz attack on London since May. It’s possible it’s over.”

Tom nodded tightly but didn’t say anything. His wand was still clutched in his hand so tightly that his knuckles were white and his breathing was still heavy.

Hermione moved so that she was facing him and looked up into his eyes. “Tom, tell me what is really going through your mind? Explain it to me.”

“I can’t protect you from Muggle bombs,” he whispered after a long moment, pinning her with a look that Hermione couldn’t quite interpret.

“It’s not your job to protect me,” Hermione reminded him. She had thought they’d had this conversation two years ago.

Tom laughed cruelly. “Of course it is, _marshmallow_.” Hermione’s blood went cold at that old hateful term. “It’s why you were given to me.”

“Tom I wasn’t given to you,” Hermione said, shaking her head, offended. Why was he acting like she was a possession and not a person?

“Of course, you were. I was all alone in that orphanage for my entire life. Then boom, you show up and we both have magic. Don’t you know what that means to me? You don’t understand because you had your parents for most of your life. You had people who loved you your entire life. I have only had you. And only for a few years.” Tom’s speech was so impassioned that tears sprung to Hermione’s eyes. She tried not to think of her parents most days, they were a hole in her heart that would never heal. Hearing Tom speak about her like _she_ was the only person he lived for broke her heart.

Flinging her arms around his neck, Hermione hugged Tom close. “You’ll always have me,” she promised through her tears. “Always, Tom. I’ll never leave you.”

Tom’s arms tightened around her in response and Hermione felt like this was the most right thing to have happened since her parents died. She was Tom’s and he was hers.

* * *

_August 1941_

_Wool’s Orphanage_

_Central London, England_

* * *

The blitz truly had stopped back in May and while Tom was relieved about that fact, it didn’t make living in London much better. The city was a mess of bombed out buildings and it seemed like the orphanage was running on even fewer rations than they had the year prior. Tom was always hungry. His job at the grocers had dried up as money grew scarce. He had to rely on recycling old bottles and cans to earn anything, and even that was becoming more difficult as more and more people were trying to scrape by and fewer and fewer bottles and cans were being used in the production of food.

He was almost thankful for the yearly trip to Diagon Alley with Professor Dumbledore, if only because it meant he didn’t have to look at the rubble of shelled buildings for an afternoon. Professor Dumbledore was not in a talkative mood the day he took them into the wizarding quarter. In fact, he ushered them along so quickly, that Hermione was quite disappointed she hadn’t had any time to browse Flourish and Blotts.

“What do you think Hogwarts will be like this year?” Hermione asked one sweltering day in August.

“Same as always, I suspect,” Tom murmured. It was too hot to move, too hot to even breath really and he desperately wished there were a pond or something nearby that they could cool off in. But even if there was, it was the middle of the city and probably wouldn’t be safe to swim in. He sighed as a bead of seat rolled down his temple. He could have wiped it away, but even that was too much effort.

“You don’t think there will be more refugees like François?” Hermione asked. “The war is getting worse in Europe. The Germans are advancing practically everywhere.”

Tom sighed. “Even if there are more refugees, what does it really matter?”

“Nothing, I guess,” Hermione replied primly. “I was just making conversation.” She stood up and strode inside the boiling hot building. The courtyard at least offered the respite of a chance of a breeze. There was no such chance inside the orphanage. Tom closed his eyes against the sun that glared down at him. He didn’t know if this was what all the girls were like, but Hermione was getting downright snippy the older she got. He supposed it had to do with puberty, she would be fourteen in a month. He should start thinking of an appropriate birthday gift. He wished he’d had more time in Diagon Alley, perhaps he could have bought her something there, but Dumbledore had been in too much of a hurry.

Maybe the little village of Hogsmeade would have something on offer? As fourth years, they were going to be allowed to go down to the village on certain Saturdays, a privilege usually allowed to third years, but with the war with Grindelwald brewing, the school had moved it to fourth years and above. Tom knew that Hermione was very much looking forward to exploring the village and the expanded freedoms that being a fourth year allowed.

* * *

_September 1941_

_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_Hogsmeade, Scotland_

* * *

The train was filled with European refugees and Tom and Hermione ended up having to share a compartment with Potter, Delacour, and Prewett. Hermione looked pleased with the extra company and spent most of the ride discussing the upcoming year with the other three boys while Tom studied the countryside. He had one fist clenched tight as it rested on the seat between him and the window. He hated the fact that _his_ school was going to be overrun by a bunch of foreigners. And he really hated how easily Delacour made Hermione laugh. Nobody else was supposed to make her laugh. That was his job. Perhaps Delacour needed a reminder about who was in charge in Gryffindor? Tom would be happy to provide.

By the third week of the school year, Tom had enough of Hermione and her ridiculous simpering at Delacour and he began to ignore her. Delacour even gave Hermione a present for her birthday, a solid-silver bookmark in the shape of a lion’s head. It was far more than Tom had ever been able to afford, and his gift of a new quill looked lack-luster in comparison. It really was the final straw and he began to spend less time with her. He needed to work on finding out who his wizarding family was and perhaps trying to get the rest of the Gryffindor boys under this thumb the same way he had the boys at the orphanage under his control. Tom disliked not being in control, and now as a fourth year, he might finally be able to wrestle more power for himself.

It was to that end that he spent the first Hogsmeade weekend in the company of Potter, Prewett, Delacour, and the rest of the boys from his dorm. There were nine of them altogether, they made quite the little pack. Tom’s goal for the day was to really learn the personalities and quirks of the rest of them. Weaknesses, in particular, were his specialty when it came to gaining power over someone.

As the day wore on, Tom decided the Gryffindors were just too easy. They naturally looked for a leader to follow and when there was a vacuum in that position, he easily stepped into it.

“Where next?” Potter asked as they exited Honeydukes, each of them clutching a bag of candy, except for Tom.

“Zonkos,” Tom said decisively, and the rest of the boys nodded and followed as Tom began heading that way. He had no desire to actually go to Zonkos, but he figured if he got them to follow him a few places when he decided to go to Scrivenshafts or Tomes and Scrolls they would actually follow him.

It didn’t surprise Tom at all, when after Zonkos and Dervish and Bang’s the boys dutifully followed him into Tomes and Scrolls. He smirked to himself as he browsed the books. If they were true Gryffindors they wouldn’t be content to follow someone and would forge their own path. Sadly, he didn’t spend as much time as he wanted in the bookstore. He didn’t quite have them under his thumb yet and after a few minutes, he suggested they head to the Three Broomsticks for something to drink.

When Delacour noticed that Tom didn’t order a drink for himself, he bought one for him. Tom had to admit the butterbeer was delicious, but he hated the fact that Delacour bought it for him. He resolved to try and figure out a way to have enough money for a butterbeer at least for the next trip. He wondered idly if the school would allow for a few knuts for spending in Hogsmeade. Tom slowly sipped his butterbeer and decided he would ask Professor Dumbledore about it.

* * *

_October 1941_

_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_Hogsmeade, Scotland_

* * *

“Tom,” Hermione said plaintively. She was standing right next to him in the library, where he was ignoring her and flipping through another genealogy from the Restricted Section. Hermione’s pass from Slughorn hadn’t expired and Tom took full advantage, especially when Hermione was so desperate for him to speak with her again that she allowed it. He was just glad to see that she didn’t allow anyone else that privilege. He’d heard both Delacour and Potter ask her if they could have a look around the Restricted Section and she denied them both, quite emphatically.

When Potter had told her he knew she let Tom look, Hermione had sputtered and then insisted because Tom was helping her with her project with Slughorn. As far as Tom knew, there wasn’t actually a project with Slughorn. His lips had curved into a genuine grin at the lie. He liked that she lied for him. It showed her loyalty because Tom knew how much she hated lying to anyone.

“Tom,” Hermione said again, touching his shoulder. Finally, he dragged his eyes from the text in front of him to her and lifted one eyebrow. She hated that look, which is why Tom gave it to her so often.

“You have to start talking to me, or I’ll go mad,” Hermione insisted. “I _miss_ you.”

Tom rolled his eyes. He hated to admit it, even to himself, but he missed her too.

“Will you just tell me what the problem is so I can fix it and we can go back to being friends?” Hermione asked, finally sitting in the chair next to him. She dropped swiftly and her scent wafted around Tom. He inhaled deeply, he truly had missed her.

“We’re still friends,” Tom replied. “We’ll always be friends.”

“Then why won’t you bloody talk to me?” Hermione growled.

“Potter and Delacour seem to hold your interest better than I ever could,” Tom sneered.

Hermione huffed and rolled her eyes. “Are you serious? You don’t _own_ me, Tom. I can talk to who I want.”

Tom shrugged. “I know, but you should talk to me the way you do them.”

Hermione’s laugh was incredulous. Tom hated it. He knew he was being a jealous git, but it didn’t stop his feelings. “ _You’re_ the one who hasn’t talked to me in weeks. You’re _my_ best friend! I spend every holiday, every summer with you. You can’t cut me off from other people!”

Tom gritted his teeth and looked down at the genealogy text again. He knew she was right, but it didn’t stop the impulse. It didn’t stop him from wanting to keep her safe, to keep her for himself. Taking a deep breath, he vowed to be better at hiding his feelings from her. “You’re right, I’m sorry.”

Hermione sighed and slung her arm around his shoulder, pressing her forehead against his temple. “You really are my best friend,” she whispered. “I miss you. Let’s not fight again.”

Tom slipped a hand around her waist, holding her awkwardly and nodded his agreement.

* * *

_December 1941_

_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_Hogsmeade, Scotland_

* * *

Despite their resolved fight, things remained tense between Tom and Hermione through the rest of the term. Tom tried hard to bury his feelings of jealousy whenever Hermione laughed at something that French git Delacour said. But he knew he wasn’t hiding them well enough. He was sure they showed all over his face and decided he needed to practice that first and foremost. He used to be so good at keeping his feelings from showing all over his face, but some combination of Hogwarts and Hermione seems to have eroded his control.

By the time the Christmas holidays rolled around, Tom thought he was doing much better. Delacour was staying again, which Tom hated. It almost had him deciding to sleep in the common room, but Hermione talked him out of it. She promised she would be there, but it was nearly midnight before she showed up.

He truly had worried that she wasn’t coming, when his bed curtains parted and she slipped inside.

“Finally,” Tom hummed, scooting over to make room for her.

“Sorry, I got caught up reading a really fascinating treatise on potions ingredients that are exclusively harvested under the full moon,” she whispered as she burrowed into his arms. At some point, their arrangement had changed from just sleeping beside one another, to holding the other. Tom didn’t mind, he always slept better when she was close.

The problem arose a few hours after they had been asleep. Hermione’s pyjama top had ridden up and Tom found his hand on her flat stomach, his head was buried in her neck, awfully close to her budding breasts. He took a deep breath and extricated himself slowly. Hermione was slowly turning from girl to woman and Tom had definitely noticed. He rolled away slightly and fell back asleep.

The first morning, he woke up with his cock hard and pressed against her bum. Slowly, he rolled away, so she wouldn’t notice and stared up at the canopy above, trying to decipher what this new development meant.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **All of the thanks in the world to infallible angel and her excellent alpha/beta skills.**
> 
> **If you love this (or hate it) please let me know about in a review! Find me on Tumblr at crochetawayhpff. Enjoy!**

_blitz - any swift, vigorous attack, barrage, or defeat_

* * *

_January 1942_

_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_Hogsmeade, Scotland_

* * *

Hermione felt like she had been very patient with Tom and his research into his family. She hadn’t even mentioned it once this year, but she would have appreciated an update from Tom. She told herself that he must not have found anything, because if he had, surely he would have told her. She hoped so anyway. Tom may have been her best friend, but sometimes she wondered if she was Tom’s. Tom didn’t seem to have _any_ friends other than Hermione, although she knew he liked going to Hogsmeade with the rest of the boys in his dorm. She tried not to begrudge him, boys needed to spend time with other boys, but it left Hermione to explore the village on her own. She didn’t necessarily mind it, but she was lonely. She had hoped that after the Christmas holidays, their friendship would go back to normal, but now it was the first Hogsmeade weekend of the new year and she could see Tom ahead with the pack of Gryffindor boys from their year.

Wrapping her cloak around her tighter, Hermione followed the rest of the Gryffindors to the village. She didn’t have money to buy anything, Tom generally kept control of the meager funds they had, which prior to this year hadn’t mattered that much. Mostly, she went to Hogsmeade to get out of the castle for a bit and because she could. She wandered down the streets, window shopping when the first assault came. It didn’t surprise her anymore. Every Hogsmeade weekend had been like this.

“Poor, Mudblood, orphan, can’t buy anything,” Marjory Doyle hissed, kicking snow at Hermione. Her shoulders tensed and she clenched her fists but refused to acknowledge the slur or the insult. It wasn’t worth getting in a fight over.

“Please, even if she _could_ afford to buy something, she doesn’t have the _taste_ for anything of proper _wizarding_ quality,” Rose Brown sniffed.

“As if any proper establishment would even have her in it,” Patricia McLaggen scoffed.

Hermione kept her face pointed toward Gladrags Wizardwear. Perhaps if she ignored them, they would go away.

“Look at me when I am speaking to you, Mudblood,” Marjory hissed and pulled Hermione around by her shoulder. She let go with a shove, and Hermione hit the panes of the window behind her so roughly, they rattled.

“Yes, yes, laugh at the Mudblood,” Hermione said tiredly. “Get your fun in.”

Patricia pulled her wand and pointed it at Hermione’s chest. “You better listen up, Mudblood. Nobody here likes you, why don’t you go take a short jump off of a tall cliff.”

Hermione rolled her eyes. “You said that to me last week, get some new material, Patricia.”

“Why—”

Patricia was cut off by Matilda Ross, the fifth year prefect for Gryffindor.

“McLaggen! What on earth are you doing? Are you _trying_ to lose Gryffindor house points? You can’t pull your wand on another student! Especially in Hogsmeade. Get back to the castle, all three of you.” She shooed Hermione’s dormmates back toward the castle, while Hermione just watched.

“Alright, Granger?” Matilda asked, looking her over. Hermione hadn’t even bothered to draw her wand. Patricia was a very weak spell-caster and Hermione wasn’t afraid of whatever little jinx she would throw her way.

“Just fine,” Hermione said tightly and turned away from the prefect.

“Granger, wait!” Matilda caught up and fell into step beside her. “Are all the girls in your year bullying you?”

Hermione snorted. “Seriously, don’t worry about it. I can handle myself.”

“But you shouldn’t have to,” Matilda frowned, pulling Hermione to a stop with a hand on her arm. “Come get me next time this happens.”

“Sure,” Hermione agreed readily. No way was she going to snitch to a prefect over it, but she knew agreeing would get her out of the conversation. Matilda nodded and turned away. Breathing a sigh of relief Hermione decided to stay in the village for another fifteen minutes or so to give the rest of her dormmates a chance to get back to the castle before she made her way back as well. This was why she preferred the library to the common room.

* * *

_March 1942_

_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_Hogsmeade, Scotland_

* * *

Hermione hadn’t even gone to Hogsmeade for the next two designated weekends. She had enough of the village and it wasn’t like she could buy anything anyway. Instead, she spent all of her free time in the library. Her pass from Slughorn was really proving useful. Besides the library, she’d found a very convenient abandoned classroom near the library and had set up an illegal brewing station. The classroom was down a short hallway that seemed to go totally unnoticed by most of Hogwarts population. It served Hermione’s needs perfectly.

Professor Slughorn probably would have accommodated her for the tamer potions she was experimenting with, but Hermione was angry and didn’t only want to brew the tame potions, she wanted to brew the wildly dangerous ones. Even mildly dangerous potions held their appeal. She’d found one that would cause the hair to fall out every day at the same time. It seemed that there was a readily available antidote, so Hermione was attempting to change the formula so that the antidote wouldn’t work on it. If she succeeded, Marjory Doyle was going to have a terrible summer. The best part of her illicit potions brewing was that Slughorn was notoriously careless with his stores. All of the students stole from him and he either didn’t care or didn’t notice. It certainly made her life much easier, not having to buy her own potions ingredients.

She had just returned to the library from her hidden potions laboratory and settled at her favorite desk. She had a few ingredients she wanted to cross-reference with the antidote when she heard some obnoxious girl begin to giggle.

“Tom,” the girl faux-whispered, drawing out the one-syllable name. Hermione stiffened. Normally, Tom chose to sit at her table, but perhaps he had sat elsewhere?

Taking a deep breath, she decided to ignore it. Besides, wasn’t there a seventh year Ravenclaw named Tom something or other? It was an incredibly common name. She focused back on the texts before her but was interrupted again by the giggle-bandit.

“You are terrible,” she tittered. Hermione strained her ears to see if she could hear a reply, but someone else coughed nearby and the reply was lost.

Shaking her head, she tried once more to focus. She was really, really close, and if she could just cross-check the three ingredients she could get out of the library and go back to the silence of her potions lab.

More giggling interrupted her moments later and Hermione slammed the book before her closed. She stalked around the corner to find Tom sitting at a table, smiling as three Ravenclaw fifth years giggled at him. Three of them. Hermione's jaw dropped at their fawning. Her chest felt tight and her nose stung. She desperately wanted to both make a scene and run away and cry. Instead, she turned on her heel and decided a trip to the Restricted Section for a localized silencing spell was what she really needed.

Her library time shouldn’t be compromised because Tom wanted to flirt with a horde of Ravenclaws.

* * *

_April 1942_

_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_Hogsmeade, Scotland_

* * *

Hermione definitely wasn’t _ignoring_ Tom, she just wasn’t going out of her way to speak with him. And perhaps, she could figure out a way to be polite with him while not in class, but right now, that was too much for her. The giggling Ravenclaws had become a staple in the library and frankly, it was driving Hermione to distraction. How those three even got sorted into Ravenclaw boggled her mind. Weren’t they supposed to be the studious house? And yet they used the library as if it were their own personal flirting court.

She was sick of it, and only went into the library when she needed to consult something from the Restricted Section. She’d taken to doing most of her studying in the makeshift laboratory she’d set up for herself. She hadn’t even told Tom about it and part of her felt like maybe that was a terrible thing to do as his friend, but lately, she hadn’t felt like much of Tom’s friend.

Even during the Easter holidays, when she’d still slipped into his room to sleep in his bed, they hadn’t talked much. Tom was absorbed in his project to figure out who his family was, and Hermione was determined not to pry.

“Is there a reason you are barely talking to me?” Tom asked one day as he caught up with her leaving Potions class.

“I’m talking to you,” Hermione replied. She flashed him a grin, but it felt brittle and she dropped it to quicken her pace.

“Hermione,” Tom said, grabbing her arm and pulling her to a stop. He pulled her to the side of the corridor to get out of the flow of students. “You’ve barely said two words to me since the Christmas holidays.”

“I’m not the one who’s found loads of new friends this term, Tom,” Hermione said. Her tone was bright, but even she could hear the falseness of it. “I’m just doing the same things I always do. Sorry I haven’t had much time for you. I’ve been busy studying and now with exams coming up, my revising is taking almost all of my time.”

“You can’t work and not relax at all,” Tom insisted. “Come to the Quidditch game with me this weekend. It’s Gryffindor versus Ravenclaw.”

Hermione shook her head. “You know I don’t care for that sport.”

“And if I decided to try out next year?” Tom asked, crossing his arms over his chest and looking down at her.

Hermione frowned. She used to enjoy how he looked at her, but now his face was neutral and she couldn’t tell what he was thinking. When had that happened?

“I would say don’t break your neck playing a stupid game,” Hermione said crossly. The warning bell rang and she jumped. “Come on, we’ll be late for Transfiguration.” She pushed past him and hurried down the corridor. She pretended to herself that it didn’t matter that he hadn’t caught up with her. They were getting older, after all, perhaps growing apart was just what happened to childhood friends.

* * *

_June 1942_

_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_Hogsmeade, Scotland_

* * *

Exams were over and finally, Hermione could allow herself to relax. Even better, she had perfected the potion she had been working on all term. All she had to do now was slip it in Marjory’s pumpkin juice in the morning and her summer would be set. Marjory’s wouldn’t be, and Hermione almost wished she could be there to see the fallout, as it were.

The pun made her lips twitch as she bottled the final product and cleaned her potions laboratory. She wanted it to be all set and ready to go when they returned in a few months. She’d earmarked at least three more potions she wanted to try. Each of varying degrees of dangerousness. Either in the brewing or in the results of the potion.

Just as she was making her way back to the Gryffindor common room, Tom appeared, seemingly from nowhere.

“Let’s go,” he muttered, grabbing her arm above the elbow. He dragged her along the corridor until he came across an empty classroom.

“Let me go,” Hermione hissed, trying to pull free.

Tom just grunted and ignored her request until they were safely inside the classroom. It was the same one she had Comportment and Etiquette in. She hated this damned room.

“What is going on with you?” Tom asked, standing between her and the door.

“It doesn’t matter,” Hermione said, sighing heavily. Her shoulders slumped and she closed her eyes. She knew she was being a stupid teenaged girl, but seeing Tom flirt with those bloody Ravenclaws drove her absolutely batty. Especially, Brumilda Edgecombe. Everything about the girl got on Hermione’s nerves. Despite the fact that her heart twinged, just thinking about it, she knew she needed to do better if she wanted to stay Tom’s friend. And if she wasn’t Tom’s friend, then who was she? Despite her false bravado in the fact that Tom seemed less interested in being her friend, Hermione _missed_ him.

“It matters to me,” Tom snapped. “You haven’t been yourself in months! Ignoring me, barely speaking to me, and for once I can’t think of anything I did to cause that reaction.”

Annoyance flooded Hermione’s veins as she whirled around to face him, the anger sparked in her hair, but Tom spoke again before she could say anything.

“Come on, Hermione. Just tell me, it’s obviously something.” The pleading tone stopped her anger in its tracks. She was being exceedingly unfair, she recognized that, but her feelings were hurt, even if Tom hadn’t meant to hurt them.

“Please, just drop it,” Hermione whispered. She was horrified to feel her nose stinging in the way that indicated tears were close and she blinked rapidly trying to forestall them, but she was unsuccessful as one slid down her cheek. She wiped it away hastily. She couldn’t catch a break, the anger was back, but now it was because she was crying, _again_.

“Oh, God, Hermione, please don’t cry,” Tom said. He pulled her to him in an attempt to hug her, but Hermione pushed him away and wrapped her arms around her stomach. This was a mortifying conversation and she just wanted it to end.

“It’s stupid. That’s why I’m crying. It’s stupid why I’m mad at you and it’s stupid that I’m even mad, to begin with, and you’re going to think _I’m_ stupid for thinking it.” Hermione dashed at her tears again, and sniffed, trying to clear her sinuses.

“I promise, I won’t. Please tell me.” Tom sounded so sincere, that Hermione chanced a look up at him. For once he wasn’t wearing that face of neutrality that she’d come to hate. He looked as upset as she felt.

“I hate it when you flirt with, _Edgecombe_ ,” she spat the name like it tasted bad.

Tom’s reaction wasn’t what she expected at all. He laughed. His head was tossed back and a full belly laugh that Hermione hadn’t heard in at least a year let loose.

The tears that Hermione had thought she had under control sprang forth once more and now she was sobbing. She was so overcome that it took her a moment to realize that Tom had his hands on her shoulders, backing her into the wall. His long fingers cupped her face and his thumbs wiped her tears as she stared up at him in hurt, anger, disbelief, too many feelings to properly categorize.

Then he pressed his lips to hers and Hermione stopped breathing. His tongue reached out and slid along her bottom lip and Hermione inhaled sharply, giving his tongue access to his mouth. Her hands that had been at her sides, crept up to fist themselves in his jumper as he cradled her head. His kiss seemed to go on and on and Hermione had a million questions going through her head, but mostly she didn’t want him to stop, so she kissed him back.

Finally, Tom pulled away with a few nips to her bottoms lips and pressed his forehead to hers. “I’ve wanted to do that since Christmas,” he murmured. He kissed her once more, just a small peck, before pulling away entirely.

“And Edgecombe?” Hermione whispered. She hated herself for asking. She hated herself for showing the vulnerability, knowing how much Tom hated vulnerability in anyone.

“Edgecombe is a nonentity,” Tom assured her. “She has a brother at the Ministry who I think will be a useful contact.”

Hermione breathed a sigh of relief and nodded. Tom linked their hands together and pulled her from the classroom.

All Hermione could think about over the last few days of the school year was that kiss. They hadn’t spoken of it, and there had been no other kisses since then, but it wouldn’t leave Hermione’s mind. Tom had been the one constant in her life since her parents died. He’d been the only one there for her and while she felt that the kiss was right and magical and all the things a first kiss is _supposed_ to be, a small voice at the back of her head wonders how he got to be such a good kisser. Was Edgecombe a good kisser? It plagued Hermione’s thoughts and she left school as unhappy as Tom had begun the trip to school ten months prior.

* * *

_July 1942_

_Wool’s Orphanage_

_Central London, England_

* * *

Tom was pleased with his efforts over the previous year with both the Gryffindor boys in his year and the female Ravenclaws from the year above. He knew that next year he would have to work harder on getting the Gryffindor girls and the Ravenclaw boys under his thumb. He had hoped that Hermione would be able to solidify his power with the Gryffindor girls, but it appeared that they disliked her immensely. He wondered if it was all due to jealousy. He hadn’t been lying to Hermione, there was an opening on the Gryffindor Quidditch team for chaser and Tom was a fair flyer, he planned to try out. Being popular had its uses, after all.

The kiss he’d shared with Hermione was another thing that wasn’t far from his thoughts. He wanted to kiss her again, but he didn’t want to scare her. He needed to control himself and he definitely didn’t want Mrs Cole to think anything improper was going on between them. They were definitely reaching an age where sharing a room at the orphanage would be frowned upon.

It didn’t help that he woke up hard every single morning. At least during the summer he and Hermione had their own beds. He wasn’t sure he could survive two months of waking up with her in his bed and not do something to send her running. He naturally tended to wake up earlier than Hermione and used that to his full advantage. Slipping out of bed, Tom headed to the communal shower and was thankful that nobody seemed to get up as early as he did. He made quick work of his erection, imaging kissing Hermione was usually enough to send him over the edge within moments. It had become his routine since Christmas and he was loathe to break it now.

It was two weeks into the summer that the true trouble with Mrs Cole began. A family came through and insisted on a tour of the whole facility. Neither Tom nor Hermione even bothered with these events anymore. There was a greater chance of Tom becoming the Muggle prime minister than there was of either of them being adopted out at fifteen. Although, a thought that some of the older girls were sometimes adopted scared him enough to insisting that Hermione and he stay in their room during those events.

Mrs Cole banged through their door later that evening. “This arrangement is at an end,” she hissed and began packing Hermione’s things.

“What? No!” Hermione said, pulling her clothing out of Mrs Cole’s hands.

“I can’t have two teenagers of opposite sexes rooming together. I almost had an adoption for little Julie Sanders today until they insisted on a tour and saw you two.” Mrs Cole’s tone was scathing, it was clear what her feelings for Tom and Hermione were.

“I don’t care about your stupid failed adoption,” Tom said, standing to use his superior height in an attempt to intimidate Mrs Cole. “Hermione isn’t leaving.”

“Yes, she is!” Mrs Cole shouted. “She can’t stay here.”

Hermione turned her back on Mrs Cole. “Let me take care of this,” she murmured to Tom.

“Can we talk about this in private?” Hermione suggested. “Perhaps over tea, in your office?”

Mrs Cole shot a nasty look at Tom before nodding tightly at Hermione. Hermione followed her out of the room without a backward look at Tom.

He paced their shared room for an hour before Hermione came back up. She looked grim, but Mrs Cole didn’t follow her, nor did she begin packing.

“What happened?” Tom demanded.

“I took care of it,” Hermione said. Then she climbed into bed and turned her back on him. “I’m going to bed now.”

Tom fumed as he watched her slide into sleep. Why wouldn’t she tell him what she did? Since when did they keep secrets from each other?

* * *

_August 1942_

_Wool’s Orphanage_

_Central London, England_

* * *

“Just tell me what you did?” Tom asked for the tenth time since Mrs Cole had barged into their room a few weeks ago.

“What does it matter, Tom? The end result is the same. She’s allowing us to stay together for the two months a year we’re here.”

“It matters because we don’t keep secrets,” Tom hissed. It was another hot summer and they were trying to catch whatever breeze they could in the courtyard.

Hermione laughed. “That’s rich, coming from you. Isn’t your whole project into looking into your family one giant secret from me? Or how about whatever plan you’ve come up with to get all the Gryffindor boys trotting after you? Or the Ravenclaw girls for that matter?” Hermione pursed her lips and turned back to her book, clearly not expecting a response from him.

“It’s not my fault you barely spoke with me last year,” Tom muttered.

Hermione huffed but didn’t say anything else.

“You really aren’t going to tell me?” Tom pleaded.

“Isn’t it obvious?” Hermione asked in exasperation. “I threatened her. I reminded her it’s only six months over the next three years. And then told her she’d never see us again.”

“That’s it?” Tom asked.

“She may have mentioned kicking you out of the orphanage entirely. Said you were old enough to work or enlist,” Hermione commented lightly.

“She what?!” Anger flooded Tom’s veins. How dare she treat him like that?

“Don’t worry about it,” Hermione said. “I fixed it.”

“How?” Tom gritted out.

“How do you think?” Hermione asked, finally putting the book down and looking at him. “What do you think scares a woman like Mrs Cole?”

Tom frowned. “What did you scare her with?”

“Have you seen the book I’m reading?” Hermione asked. “Really looked at it?” She handed it to Tom and he examined it. The binding held no clues, it was a deep red with gold accents. _Potions Moste Foule_ was emblazoned across the title page. And as he flipped through he grimaced at some of the titles of the potions.

“Where did you get this?” Tom asked.

“Nicked it from Slughorn,” Hermione murmured and took it back from him. “I wanted to do a little light reading this summer.”

“Perhaps it’s you who should have been sorted into Slytherin,” Tom replied approvingly.

* * *

_September 1942_

_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_Hogsmeade, Scotland_

* * *

Tom scowled as he watched the owls arrive for the morning post. News of the Muggle war was all anybody could talk about and now whispers of Grindelwald following the Muggle armies were in the _Daily Prophet_. Tom sneered at the image of Grindelwald from some rally in France. Wizarding Europe had never been united, not even during the days of the Roman Empire. What did a wizard like him hope to gain from all of this? Power and influence was one thing, but war was stupid and senseless. Tom had a distaste for it entirely. It probably stemmed from his fears of being drafted into the Muggle army in a few years time, but the idea of going to war for the things he believed him made him feel a little sick. Did that mean that what he believed in wasn’t enough? Tom didn’t know, but he did know that war was never a good thing.

“When Grindelwald comes, all the Mudbloods will be gone,” Malfoy whispered behind him on his way to breakfast. Tom ignored him. Slytherins would be a problem he would tackle next year. Collecting each of the factions within Hogwarts had become almost as much as an obsession into finding out who his wizarding family was. This year would be the true test, get all of Gryffindor and Ravenclaw eating out of his hand. Then the Hufflepuffs and once he was down to just the Slytherins, he would tackle them. They would be the hardest, but he was patient.

Slurs from the Slytherins increased as the year went on and Tom found himself clenching his fists often. But temper tantrums had no place in his plans. And the Slytherins wouldn’t respond to displays of temper. Tom needed to find their weakness and get them on his side. He was slowly beginning to realize that collecting the future of the wizarding world was his ultimate goal.

“Fucking Mudblood,” Lestrange spat as he attempted to send a tripping jinx at Tom on his way to Charms class one afternoon.

Tom avoided the jinx and whirled around, but Hermione laid her hand on his arm.

“It’s not worth it,” she murmured, trying to get him to turn around again.

“But I have just the spell for him,” Tom argued as he finally relented and followed Hermione to class.

“And what spell is that?” Hermione asked as they settled at their usual desk.

“It’s Romanian, created by Vlad the Impaler,” Tom said, grinning at her.

Hermione laughed, just as the professor strode into the room.

“Too dangerous for school then,” she whispered as class began.

Tom nodded, but honestly, he would use the spell if push came to shove. He may be taking the higher road with the Slytherins now, but if they proved recalcitrant, he wasn’t above a little magical persuasion.

* * *

_October 1942_

_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_Hogsmeade, Scotland_

* * *

The first Gryffindor Quidditch match was held the first weekend of October which had arrived bright and cheery.

“What do you mean I have to go?” Hermione grumbled.

“I’m playing, so you have to go to support me,” Tom grinned at her as he flashed her his Quidditch uniform.

“I cannot believe you even bothered to try out. The whole sport is barbaric,” Hermione sniffed. The disdain was evident. “I’m going to lose a whole day of brewing on this.”

“It’ll be fine,” Tom replied. “Besides, you may enjoy yourself.” He tossed his scarf around her neck and pulled her close. “Wear it for me for luck?”

He was pleased when she blushed and nodded.

The game was exhilarating and when Gryffindor smashed Hufflepuff, even Hermione was cheering. She threw her arms around Tom’s shoulders after the game and kissed his cheek.

“You were brilliant!” she shouted over the din of the rest of their house celebrating.

“Told you, you’d enjoy it,” Tom smirked, pulling her close. He leaned in to kiss her, his heart hammering against his chest, but someone clapped him on the shoulder and the moment was lost. He was pulled along with the rest of his teammates as they all trooped back up to the castle for a proper celebration in the common room.

Tom didn’t notice that he didn’t see Hermione for the rest of the day.

* * *

_November 1942_

_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_Hogsmeade, Scotland_

* * *

“This is the time of year when we like to announce our student assistantships,” Professor Dumbledore said one snowy morning at the beginning of December. “Each professor takes on one student from each year. As long as things go well throughout the year, the student can then stay on the following year. The student assistants do earn a small wage and help the professors prepare materials for class. The seventh year students may even help in some marking. There is an assistantship available for each professor. You can speak to your professors after class if you are interested in the position.”

After the announcement, Transfiguration class went on as normal. As they were packing up, Hermione asked Tom if he was going to apply for one.

“Dumbledore’s,” Tom said.

“I’m thinking Slughorn’s,” Hermione replied. “Think he’ll take me, even though I’m a girl?”

“He better,” Tom frowned. “You’ve been top of our Potions class every year. He’d be stupid not to take you.”

Hermione flashed him a grin.

“I’ll meet you in the Great Hall for lunch,” Tom said. They were the last two to leave the room.

“Professor Dumbledore?” Tom asked, grateful that none of the other Gryffindors seemed interested in Dumbledore’s assistantship.

“Mr Riddle,” Dumbledore smiled warmly at him. “Are you planning to apply for the Transfiguration assistantship?”

“I am, if that’s alright with you, sir,” Tom said politely. He gave his most charming smile and was pleased when Dumbledore twinkled back at him.

“Very good, I’ll let you know by the end of the week.”

“Thanks, Professor,” Tom hoped he would get it. Not only would he have a chance to have a closer relationship with the most powerful wizard in Britain, but he would also be learning from a Transfiguration master. Transfiguration had long interested Tom more than many other classes. The uses for it were endless.

* * *

_December 1942_

_Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_Hogsmeade, Scotland_

* * *

“Only Dumbledore,” a sixth year Ravenclaw muttered.

“Really? Not even Minister Spencer-Moon?” his friend asked.

Tom was listening in on a whispered conversation in the library about who could possibly defeat Grindlewald.

“My dad says that Spencer-Moon is weak. Not even the Head Auror is good enough. It’s got to be Dumbledore.”

“Is Dumbledore really _that_ powerful?”

Tom snorted. Dumbledore was extraordinarily powerful, he was the youngest Supreme Mugwump in history. That was not a position that was given to just anyone. He also had a seat on the Wizengamot, despite the fact that he couldn’t be in session to vote all that often. Tom didn’t think they let many of the other Wizengamot members have full-time jobs outside of their Wizengamot duties. That had to count for something right?

“You should see him duel,” the first Ravenclaw said. “My dad saw him once and said he’d never seen anything like it. Only Dumbledore.”

“Well, do you think he’ll do it? Will he leave Hogwarts to go track down Grindelwald?”

“No way, he’s waiting for Grindelwald to come to threaten Britain before he makes a move.”

Tom frowned. Why would Dumbledore wait? That didn’t seem very Gryffindor. Regardless, the conversation gave him a lot to think about. Perhaps he would even ask Dumbledore about it sometime. Now that he was the fifth year student assistant, he saw much more of Dumbledore than he had in the past.

* * *

Christmas holidays rolled around and once again, Tom and Hermione had the run of Gryffindor house. It seemed the entire castle had emptied out this year and Tom was enjoying the quiet.

“Happy Birthday, Tom,” Hermione said brightly on the morning of his birthday.

Tom smirked at her. “Thank you. What did you get me?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Hermione winked at him. “You’ll have to wait until after dinner. Snow fell last night, want to go build a fort?”

Tom glanced out the window to see it was still snowing and nodded. The novelty of being able to play in the snow had still not been lost.

Hours later, on their way back from dinner, Tom asked Hermione again what she got him for his birthday.

“Patience,” she said and whispered the password to the Fat Lady. The portrait opened and admitted them. The entire common room was decorated in streamers and balloons. Tom spun around in a slow circle. Nobody had ever thrown him a birthday party before. Even if it was just the two of them.

“This is...thanks…” he trailed off and turned to look at her. She was smiling softly and sauntered up to him.

“Happy Birthday, Tom,” she whispered and leaned forward, placing a soft kiss on his lips. Tom had been dreaming of this. He’d been wanking to their shared kiss last June for months. He hadn’t wanted to scare her away, so he’d abstained from anything else. Hermione wasn’t just some girl, she was his best friend, his rock. She’d been given to him and he would do anything to protect her, to keep her safe, even from himself if he had to, but right now, she had her arms around his neck and was pressing insistent kisses to his lips.

Tom gathered her close, wrapping one arm around her waist and dragging her body forward until it was flush with his. Then he devoured her mouth while his other hand slid into her hair, cradling the back of her head. He swallowed every moan and whimper she made and it wasn’t until he felt the sofa against the back of his knees that he even realized she was pushing him backward.

He fell onto the sofa, breaking the kiss. Hermione scrambled into his lap, straddling him, then placed her hands on either side of his face, and kissed him again. Tom tried to keep his erection from brushing against her, but she rolled her hips and he groaned. He couldn’t have stopped his own hips from grinding up into her if he tried. Her answering gasp was all Tom needed. He slid one hand up from her back and around to her front, palming her breast and she arched into him, her hips rolling again.

“Hermione,” Tom groaned as he broke the kiss and slid his lips along her jawline. “You feel so good,” he murmured into her ear. One hand still on her breast, while the other traveled up her thigh, dipping beneath her skirt.

She whined and tightened her hands in his hair, pulling his head back before kissing him again. _This_ was definitely the best birthday Tom had ever had.


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **All of the thanks in the world to infallible angel and her excellent alpha/beta skills.**
> 
> **If you love this (or hate it) please let me know about in a review! Find me on Tumblr at crochetawayhpff. Enjoy!**

_blitz - an intensive or sudden military attack_

* * *

_January 1943_

_Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_Hogsmeade, Scotland_

* * *

Three weeks into the new year and already Hermione was already feeling the exhaustion creep over her. Her dormmates were as terrible as ever and Hermione had to ward her bed curtains in order to keep them from messing with her and her things in the middle of the night. Keeping the wards up constantly was exhausting her and she put aside her research into potions to see if she could find some more sustainable wards.

She shouldn’t have retaliated with the hair fall-out potion on Marjory, but it was too late to do anything about it now. Marjory had taken to wearing turbans. Even now, almost six months later Professor Slughorn had yet to come up with an antidote. The thought made Hermione grin every time. He’d even offered an extra reward to his student assistants if they could brew an antidote. Hermione had bowed out of it. She hadn’t bothered with one when reformulating the original and she wasn’t going to waste time on it now. Especially knowing that it was continuing to cause Marjory social pain.

Since the last disastrous trip to Hogsmeade where Matilda Ross had saved her from Marjory and her gang, Hermione had avoided going to Hogsmeade. She was finally earning a Sickle every other week working for Slughorn, so she had some money, but she was saving it. Being an orphan had taught Hermione how to be frugal and she decided that she would save as much as possible. Since she had been avoiding Hogsmeade, it was a surprise to her when Fleamont had asked her to Hogsmeade.

“Are you going next weekend?” Fleamont asked on a bright Wednesday morning. It was the first time the sun had been shining in two weeks.

Hermione assumed he was talking to someone else and didn’t respond.

“Uh, Hermione?” Fleamont touched her arm.

“Oh, me?” Hermione asked, looking around to see that the rest of the Gryffindors were eyeing them with interest.

“Yes, you,” Fleamont laughed. “Are you going to Hogsmeade next Saturday?”

“I hadn’t planned on it,” Hermione replied and turned back to her eggs. It hadn’t dawned on her that Fleamont had been attempting to ask _her_ to Hogsmeade.

“Would you, uh, go with me?” Fleamont asked. His voice rose notably at the end and Hermione whipped her head around to stare at him in shock. He wanted _her_ to go to Hogsmeade with _him_? He was easily one of the most popular boys in their year, if not _the_ most popular one.

“Me?” Hermione squeaked. She could feel her face redden in embarrassment, and Fleamont just nodded.

“Uh, sure, I guess,” Hermione mumbled. She shoved a bite of eggs into her mouth to try and end the conversation.

“Great!” Fleamont perked up at her reply. “I’ll meet you in the entrance hall at eleven then.”

Hermione nodded and finished swallowing before fleeing from the table. Nobody had ever asked her out before and she wasn’t quite sure how she should feel about it. Thoughts of the kisses she had shared with Tom on his birthday flitted through her head. Perhaps she should have said no, but it was too late now. And besides, Tom hadn’t made any other advances. She already knew he could get quite jealous, not that she _also_ couldn’t get jealous, but well, Tom was the boy wasn’t he? She had made the move on him on New Year's Eve, and he certainly had _seemed_ to like it. She’d even felt him harden beneath her, something that still made desire swoop low in her belly just thinking about it. And then, it had been nothing since.

By the time she had made it to Herbology class that morning, she had convinced herself that Tom wouldn’t even be _mad_ about the semi-date she had planned with Fleamont.

* * *

_February 1943_

_Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_Hogsmeade, Scotland_

* * *

It was cold and dreary the day of the Hogsmeade trip and Hermione was considering canceling, but Fleamont had seemed so excited the night before that she just donned her warmest clothes and decided to tough it out.

“You can’t possibly be wearing _that_ to go on a date with Monty Potter,” Marjory spat when she saw Hermione’s outfit. Hermione was wearing her thickest tights, paired with her school uniform and her heaviest winter robe.

“What’s wrong with it?” Hermione asked, looking down at herself. She’d be warm, and it would get her through the foot of snow that was still covering the ground.

Marjory rolled her eyes. “You are useless. It’s a _date_ , Hermione. You have to dress up for a date.”

Hermione felt her face redden. Her only nice clothes were Muggle. She knew wearing Muggle clothes at Hogwarts was considered taboo by the purebloods. “I haven’t got anything else,” Hermione said mulishly.

“Come on Rose, Patricia, between the three of us, we can find _something_ for Hermione to wear.”

Hermione eyed her suspiciously. “Why are you doing this?”

“Consider it charity,” Marjory snapped as she browsed Patricia’s wardrobe.

Hermione frowned and thought about refusing, but she did want to look nice for her first date. And since her hair had fallen out, Marjory had been ignoring Hermione more than she was bullying her.

“This isn’t some setup to make me look like an imbecile?” Hermione confirmed as Marjory set out a lovely blue sweater from Patricia’s wardrobe and a long, knit skirt from Rose’s.

“Absolutely not,” Marjory replied. “It’s your first date, right? A girl’s first date should be special.”

Hermione nodded, she did want to feel special, but she still couldn’t help feeling like something was going to go horribly wrong by accepting Marjory’s “charity.”

“Seriously, the blue sweater would look amazing with your skin,” Patricia said. “You should definitely wear it. And if it looks as good on you as I think, you can keep it.”

“Oh, no.” Hermione shook her head vigorously. “I can’t keep your clothes.”

“It’s fine, my mother will probably buy me another one next Christmas,” Patricia said with a shrug.

“What gives?” Hermione asked. “You are being entirely too nice.”

Marjory sighed and sat down on the bed. She didn’t speak for a long time and Hermione was beginning to think that it really was a prank.

“It’s from C&E class,” Rose said, finally. “Remember how Professor Delente was telling us to be nice to other girls?”

Hermione nodded. She’d been surprised that Professor Delente had advocated for that sort of thing. It had seemed that she would be the type to tell girls they needed to compete with one another, but last week, Delente had sat down and given them a rather stiff lecture on what it meant to be a witch and how _good_ witches helped each other. Competition wasn’t necessary in any way unless they were playing Quidditch. That got a laugh as there were precious few girls who played Quidditch at Hogwarts.

“This is all from one lecture?” Hermione asked incredulously.

Marjory nodded. “Really, I also got a lecture from my mother as well over Christmas. She said nobody would have cursed my hair away if I had been behaving like a proper witch.”

Hermione nodded but didn’t admit to the hair debacle. Maybe she would take up Slughorn’s offer to brew an antidote, but she wasn’t _ever_ going to admit her part in it.

“Alright,” Hermione said after a moment. “But if this turns out to be a prank, just know that I’ve been researching poisons in my spare time.”

Marjory laughed, but Patricia and Rose looked nervous at that pronouncement. “Duly noted.”

Hermione grinned at her and quickly changed into the clothes they had offered. The blue sweater really did look lovely on her. Marjory sat her in front of the mirror and cast a few hair charms. Instead of looking like a bushy, frizzy mess, her curls cascading down her back. The hairclip Tom had given her in first year, matched perfectly with the sweater and was just the thing to keep her curls off her face.

By the time Hermione made it to the entrance hall she was very nearly late, but her nerves had settled quite a bit. There was still a small fear in the back of her mind that the clothes would all disappear while she was in the middle of Hogsmead, or something worse, so she slung her own cloak over her shoulders before leaving the common room.

Her date with Fleamont went surprisingly well. He took her to Honeydukes and insisted she pick out a candy. Sugar quills had always interested her so she picked one. Fleamont rolled his eyes and picked out five more fore her and bought the lot. Hermione reddened and thanked him. He acted like it wasn’t that big of a deal, and really sugar quills weren’t expensive, but Hermione didn’t spend money on things she thought were frivolous, which sugar quills definitely were. Fleamont was kind and funny, he wasn’t Tom, but she definitely had a good time with him.

When they entered the Three Broomsticks, Hermione was surprised to see how busy it was. It was clear that at least in the winter months, the Three Broomsticks was the usual haunt for most of the Hogwarts students. Fleamont found an empty table near the center of the large dining room and left her there to make his way to the bar for drinks. Hermione wrung her hands, trying to ease the nerves out of them. She’d heard of butterbeer, which didn’t sound so bad, but Firewhisky sounded terrible and Hermione hoped Fleamont wouldn’t come back with that.

He settled a cold bottle on the table before her and slid into the seat across from her, holding his bottle up. Hermione clinked hers to his and he grinned as she tipped it back to try it. It was sweet and bubbly and tasted like butterscotch. In a word, it was delicious.

“So good,” Hermione smiled at him.

“Butterbeer is the best drink Hogsmeade has to offer,” Fleamont said with a slight authority.

Hermione hadn’t thought to mention the date to Tom, she assumed he wouldn’t care, although a small part of her hoped that he _would_ care. She examined her feelings prior to the date taking place and decided that she truly wasn’t going to make Tom jealous. But when she spied him across the room at the Three Broomsticks, Hermione knew she made a mistake.

Tom looked livid and was actively glaring at both her and Fleamont. He was sitting with a group of sixth year Ravenclaws. He murmured something to the boy sitting next to him and stood, winding his way through the crowd and storming from the pub. Even as far as she was from the door, Hermione heard it slam. She winced at the noise and set her bottle of butterbeer down.

She stood to follow him, but Fleamont stopped her by grabbing her wrist.

“He’s not worth it,” Fleamont said lightly, following her gaze to where Tom had just left. “He has had years to lock you down and he hasn’t.”

Hermione was disgusted by his language. Lock _her_ down? He sounded like a neanderthal. “Let go of me,” she hissed.

“No! Let him go, he’s not worth it.” Fleamont’s hand tightened around her wrist.

“He’s… my best friend and is obviously upset. I have to go.” Hermione tugged her arm sharply away from his and he finally released her.

He spoke before she could leave entirely. “ _You_ deserve better than him though, you’re smart, beautiful, and talented. Please.”

“I don’t care if I deserve better, I want him,” Hermione said and at that moment it was entirely true. Her date with Fleamont had been nice, but she did want Tom. The idea of him rushing back to the castle, upset with her about this hurt.

By the time she was leaving the Three Broomsticks Hermione was quite sure that her heart had been cleaved in two, the pain in her chest was so great. She ran through the village and up the path to the castle, finally catching Tom just as he was passing Black Lake.

“Tom!” she shouted as he came into view. His shoulders stiffened and he stopped but didn’t turn to face him. “Tom,” she said again as she moved closer and got in front of him. He was wearing that careful neutral mask that she hated so much.

“I should have told you about the date,” she rambled. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t very nice of me, but—” she cut herself off as Tom moved around her and began making his way back toward the castle.

“TOM!” she shouted again, but this time he didn’t stop, just kept moving toward the castle at a steady pace, although she could see his fists clenched at his sides.

* * *

_May 1943_

_Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_Hogsmeade, Scotland\_

* * *

Tom didn’t speak one word to her in the months of March or April after her disastrous date with Fleamont Potter. Fleamont also wasn’t talking to her but seemed to have no problem spending time with Tom. She often caught them together, snickering over something. Marjory, Rose, and Patricia were marginally nicer to her after the date, especially when they heard that she had stormed out of the Three Broomsticks and that she hadn’t started going steady with Fleamont. But they weren’t Tom and they weren’t nearly as interested in studying obscure magic with her.

She had been spending most of her time in the library, but halfway through April, Tom had decided on his revenge. Wherever she was sitting in the library, he found a table nearby. Then proceeded to invite any witch that passed him by to sit with him and flirt. The giggling grated on Hermione’s nerves.

“ _Muffliato_ ,” she muttered, casting a spell she’d found last year when Tom started flirting with Brumilda Edgecombe. It was better, at least she didn’t have to listen to giggling, but Tom must have figured she’d cast something because he began sitting at her table with her and flirting with other girls.

That development led Hermione to start studying in abandoned classrooms. She loved her little potions brewing classroom, but it wasn’t well ventilated, and Hermione feared for her books by studying in there all the time. So she’d taken to studying in a different classroom near the Gryffindor common room on the seventh floor. The only time she ever went to the library was between classes to check out books now. It helped, but she was lonely.

She tried not to cry, but the loneliness overwhelmed her one Saturday afternoon in May, and she found herself bawling into her hands. She never warded the classroom she studied in and regretted it bitterly when the door banged open and four Slytherins from her year sauntered in. Malfoy, Black, Lestrange, and Rosier were intimidating and they hated Hermione. Every time they saw her, she knew at least a slur would be tossed her way, if not a hex or jinx. She swiped her arm across her eyes, attempting to clear the tears and fumbled for her wand.

“ _Expelliarmus_ ,” Malfoy said lazily and her wand shot across the room and into his open hand.

“I don’t want any trouble,” Hermione began. She stood from the desk and backed away. “If you want the room, I can leave.”

“It’s not the room we want, Mudblood,” Lestrange sneered at her. Hermione’s heart skipped a beat and her palms began to sweat. She had no hope of overpowering all four of them, plans and ideas raced through her head as she tried to figure a way out of the coming confrontation.

“ _Stupefy_ ,” Rosier hissed, a red light shot out of his wand and hit Hermione in the chest. Everything went black as she crumpled to the floor.

* * *

_May 1943_

_Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_Hogsmeade, Scotland_

* * *

It was Tuesday afternoon before Tom realized it had been three days since he’d seen Hermione. He should rightfully hate her, but he found himself looking for her in every room he went into, even though she was increasingly disappearing from any room that wasn’t a classroom. He wasn’t even sure the last time he’d seen her in the Great Hall for a meal and a jolt of panic hit his chest. What had he been doing, neglecting her like that? Over what? He’d already taken care of Potter, reminding him just who was in charge in Gryffindor and it hadn’t taken Potter more than one bout of the Cruciatus to get back into line. Tom had debated with himself about using the Unforgivable, but frankly, Potter’s actions felt rather unforgivable to Tom, so he thought it appropriate.

What had shocked him was how good it felt to cast the Cruciatus. As the curse set Potter’s nerves on fire and made his back arch and his body writhe in pain, it flicked at Tom’s nerves in a decidedly different fashion and he found himself hard and panting after just holding the curse for moments. No wonder it was Unforgivable.

He stormed through the castle, banging open every classroom door and looking behind each tapestry and in every hidden corridor and secret passageway they had found over their years of exploring the castle. Hermione wasn’t anywhere.

Dinner that night felt subdued and Tom wasn’t hungry but forced himself to eat anyway.

“Where’s Hermione?” Marjory Doyle asked. She had settled down across from Tom and crossed her arms over her chest, glaring at him.

“Why do you care?” he sneered at her.

“Because she hasn’t been in the dorm since Saturday,” Doyle replied. “You may not give two figs for her anymore, but I do. Where is she? What have you done to her?”

“Nothing,” Tom spat. “I don’t know where she is.”

“Malfoy, Lestrange, Black, and Rosier are missing too,” Prewett commented.

Tom’s heart stopped in his chest and he whipped his head around to the Slytherin table, looking for the boys Prewett mentioned. They weren’t there.

Panic leapt through him and he hurried from the hall. She must be in the hospital wing, Tom hadn’t checked their earlier because Madam Davies didn’t like him, the only staff member in the school who didn’t. Perhaps there had been a duel between the five of them. That thought almost stopped Tom in his tracks, before the panic turned full-fledged and he began running. No way, Hermione would be able to hold her own against four Slytherins. One or two, he wouldn’t have worried, but four? That was too much even for him probably.

He banged through the doors of the Infirmary to find it completely empty.

“Mr Riddle, what is the meaning of this?” Madam Davies demanded as she exited her office at the end of the wing.

“I-I was looking for Hermione Granger,” Tom said. “Is she here?”

“No, she’s not. Are you sick or injured?” She peered at him closely and Tom’s chest was heaving from his exertion.

He shook his head. “Just looking for Hermione.”

“She’s not here. I haven’t seen her.”

Tom nodded and left the hospital wing. Hermione wasn’t in the castle. He should go to Dumbledore, but Tom had never trusted authority figures and the idea of not being able to solve the problem himself irked him. He’d give it one more day. If she still wasn’t back by tomorrow morning, then he’d go to Dumbledore.

* * *

The following morning, all four of the missing Slytherins turned up for breakfast, but Hermione was still nowhere to be found. He _knew_ that those four had something to do with Hermione’s disappearance, all he needed to do was get one of them alone. Tom had plenty of ways of making someone talk.

It took until they were leaving Potions class for Tom to push Lestrange into an abandoned classroom.

“What’s this, Riddle?” Lestrange sneered at him.

Tom had his wand drawn and shoved it into Lestrange’s chest. “Where’s Hermione?”

Lestrange shrugged and looked smug. “Not my job to keep track of _your_ Mudblood.”

Tom pulled his wand back and switched it to his left hand, then quicker than Lestrange expected, he pulled his right hand back and punched Lestrange in the nose. It hurt, but Tom was gratified when Lestrange called out and bent over to cradle his nose.

“Fuck, Riddle! I didn’t take your fucking Mudblood.”

“You’re lying,” Tom hissed. He gripped Lestrange’s shoulders and kneed him in the stomach. Lestrange fell over onto the floor on his side and Tom smirked to see him taken down by Muggle means. The idiot hadn’t even been expecting it.

“What’s going on here?” a new voice shouted from the doorway. Tom turned to find Rosier had his wand trained on him.

“Where’s Hermione?” Tom asked Rosier, he whipped his wand out and pointed it at Lestrange. “I’ll kill him if you don’t tell me.”

“You don’t have the hate in you to kill someone, _Gryffindor_ ,” Rosier sneered. “Come on, Rufus, time to go.”

Lestrange scrambled to his feet and within moments also had his wand out and pointed it at Tom. Lestrange’s smirk was ruined by the blood still pouring from his nose. Tom sneered at both of them and cast a Shield Charm just as Rosier sent a Stupefy his way.

“You really want to duel me?” Tom asked, lifting an eyebrow. He was known for having the fastest wand in Defense class.

“Let’s go,” Rosier muttered and Lestrange threw one last glare at Tom before practically running out of the classroom.

Tom frowned after them. It was obvious they knew something. He would just have to trap the four of them and not let them go until they told him what he needed to know.

For that, he would need help. Tom headed back to the Gryffindor common room, he had just the person in mind to help him.

* * *

“I promise, you won’t regret it,” Marjory simpered at Malfoy as Tom hid beneath a Disillusionment Charm in the corner of the room. It was a classroom near the top of the North tower, almost completely isolated from the rest of the school, and exactly what Tom needed for his plan to work.

“If it has you naked and writhing beneath me, I’m sure I won’t,” Malfoy flirted back. Marjory giggled and Tom had to give it to her for her excellent seduction skills. Malfoy was the last of them and they’d each fallen for her charms. It helped that she was a pureblood, more so that she was known to be a bit of a flirt. Still, Tom was surprised that all four of them fell for the same trick. For Slytherins, they seemed quite gullible.

“ _Stupefy_ ,” Tom hissed as Malfoy’s back was turned. The other boy crumpled to the ground at Marjory’s feet.

“He looks good down there,” Marjory said and kicked Malfoy in the stomach.

Tom smirked. “You’ve been very helpful, Marjory. Thank you. It’s time for you to go now.” He also kicked Malfoy as he stepped around him and hustled Marjory out of the classroom.

She pouted for a moment. “You’re really not going to let me help? Hermione’s my roommate.”

“I’ve got it under control,” Tom assured her. “Your assistance has been invaluable, however, I will offer to provide any favor you need in the future.”

“Any?” Marjory asked, a perfectly manicured brow arched in inquiry.

“Anything,” Tom assured her with a grin.

“I’ll be taking you up on that someday, Tom Riddle,” Marjory winked at him and turned around.

“I expect you will,” Tom muttered as he closed the classroom door and locked it. He hated involving someone else, but the speed with which Marjory had ensnared all four Slytherins had been unmatched.

A few flicks of his wand had each of his captives wrapped in ropes and sitting in a row. Tom enervated each of them in turn and leaned against an old teachers desk as he waited for them to wake properly.

“What’s going on?” Lestrange asked with suspicion as he eyed Tom.

“You tell me,” Tom replied. “Where’s Hermione?”

Rosier snorted. “Dead probably.”

Tom sent a stinging hex at him and narrowed his eyes at him. “Explain.”

“She’s with Grindelwald now,” Malfoy said. Tom had always pegged him as the one who would break first, he was self-serving to the extreme. “He’ll decide her fate.”

Tom’s heart stuttered and he couldn’t breathe. Grindelwald _hated_ Muggleborns. If Hermione had been with him this entire time, it was almost a certainty that she was dead. And if she was with Grindelwald, then Tom would need help.

“Take me to her,” Tom insisted.

Black laughed this time. The quietest of the bunch, he hardly spoke. “You don’t know Grindelwald. He moves around. He’s never in the same place for longer than a day or two. It’s been four days, who knows where he is now.”

“How did you find him in the first place then?” Tom growled.

Rosier laughed and none of the boys answered.

“ _Crucio_ ,” Tom hissed, his wand pointed at Black. The bonds didn’t allow for much movement and Tom wondered idly if that helped or made the curse worse. He released it after a long moment and was glad his robes covered his response to the casting that particular curse.

“I can do this all night, gentlemen,” Tom replied as Black relieved himself all over the floor. “And nobody missed you for three days. That gives me three additional days to do this.”

“Evan’s father is—”

“Shut up, Abraxas!” Rosier shouted. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“ _Silencio_ ,” Tom muttered. “You were saying?”

“Evan’s father is in Grindelwald’s circle. Pretty high up too.”

“So Rosier can take me to him? I don’t need to keep you three around then,” Tom murmured. He twirled his wand in his fingers and decided what he should use next. He was desperate to use that curse from Vlad the Impaler. He thought impaling someone would be disgusting, but also, very painful. He’d like to use it on Rosier, it was clear that this was his idea, but he _needed_ Rosier.

“Tom,” a very disappointed Dumbledore stood in the doorway to the classroom. “What is going on here.”

“They have taken Hermione to Grindelwald,” Tom hissed. “I was just trying to figure out what happened and how best to go about rescuing her.”

“We’ve spoken about this,” Dumbledore replied. He sounded old and tired. “You cannot torture students.”

“Tying them up and casting stinging jinxes is hardly torture,” Tom replied. Dumbledore’s eyes narrowed and Tom was sure that he didn’t believe him, but unless Dumbledore checked his wand, he wouldn’t actually know.

“Tell me, Mr Malfoy,” Dumbledore turned to the four tied up Slytherins.

“We did it,” Malfoy said, singing like a canary. He laid all of the blame at Rosier’s feet, stating it was his idea and that Malfoy, Black, and Lestrange just went along with it. Tom wasn’t surprised.

“This is a _very_ serious offense,” Dumbledore replied. He was angrier than Tom had ever seen him. The power was practically rolling off of him in waves.

“In fact, this could cost you your place at this school. Kidnapping is considered a capital offense and punishable by ten years in Azkaban. The four of you are to go directly to Headmaster Dippet’s office.” His voice boomed through the room, almost making Tom cover his ears, it was so loud. He twisted his wand and a silvery phoenix burst out of the end of it. Dumbledore spoke to it, and the phoenix flew through the door. “I’ve sent for Professor Slughorn to meet you there.”

Another flick and all four boys were untied. “I, for one, will absolutely be arguing for your dismissal and a trial in front of the full Wizengamot for your shameful actions.” Dumbledore turned to glare at Tom. “We’ll be speaking of this as well,” he snapped and stormed from the room. The door banged open by a wordless, wandless incantation as Dumbledore billowed through it.

“Fuck,” Malfoy muttered. “Fuck, fuck, fuck! Evan! This is your fucking fault.”

“ _My_ fault? You’re the one who outed us all, Abraxas! Dumbledore didn’t know _anything_ until you told him the whole fucking story!”

“I wouldn’t keep Headmaster Dippet waiting if I were you,” Tom sneered at them. He still had his wand pointed at the four of them. “And don’t think that _this_ conversation is over either. If one hair on her head is hurt, I will kill each of you. Slowly.”

Black seemed to have more sense than the rest of them, he nodded to Tom and hurried his friends from the room. Tom let out a slow breath and kicked the nearest chair. He was conflicted; both happy that Dumbledore seemed to be doing something about it and angry that Dumbledore hadn’t taken Tom with him. Tom wanted to be the one to rescue Hermione. He needed to be the one who rescued her because he felt that it was his fault she needed rescuing, to begin with. He was an idiot for ignoring her for so many months. And it definitely felt like his fault that those four Slytherins felt like they could make a move against him.

He wasn’t as optimistic as Dumbledore, Malfoy’s father served on the school board of governors and the Blacks were equally as powerful in the Wizengamot. There was no way they were getting expelled unless Hermione was dead, and even then, Tom knew her life wouldn’t rate very high within the wizarding world as a Muggbleborn.

Clenching his fists, Tom kicked another chair and stormed from the room. He felt helpless and he _hated_ that feeling.

* * *

Tom hadn’t slept in two days. Not since Dumbledore had flapped out of that abandoned classroom in order to rescue Hermione. Tom paced the common room, and the corridors when curfew was lifted. He was on the fourth floor near one of the Charms classrooms when a first year Gryffindor tracked him down.

“Professor Dumbledore’s asking for you, Riddle,” the firstie panted. “In the hospital wing.”

Tom nodded to the boy and strode away, heading for the third floor. Hope fluttered in his chest, he had to have brought back good news, because the alternative Tom couldn’t think about. In fact, he’d avoided thinking about it in all his pacing. Instead, he dwelled on his revenge. He hadn’t seen any of the Slytherins in his wanderings, but that could mean anything. Even if they were expelled, Tom would hunt them down and make them pay for their part in this. There was a certain pleasure in thinking about ending four house lines by killing their heirs. Just four fewer purebloods in the world to lord over the rest of them.

By the time he reached the infirmary, Tom’s hands were shaking. Whatever was on the other side, he would face it like a man. Gritting his teeth, he took a breath and pushed the doors open. The only thing Tom could see was Hermione’s hunched form curled up on a cot at the far end of the wing.

“Hermione,” he breathed, almost choking on her name and strode quickly toward where she lay.

“Tom!” she shouted and reached for him. He perched on the bed and she threw her arms around his shoulders and buried her face into his neck. Her sobs were loud and her tears dampened his robes, but Tom didn’t care. She was here. She was _alive_. She was in his arms and his heart threatened to explode from his chest, it was thumping so hard against his ribcage. He breathed her in, she smelled as she always did, and her body pressed against his was right. _Fuck_ , he’d been so stupid. Who cared about stupid Potter? Hermione was what was important. Hermione was his rock, his anchor, and he wouldn’t be letting her go again. He needed her as much as she needed him.

Someone coughed and Tom opened his eyes to find Dumbledore frowning down at them. Tom didn’t care how it looked. Hermione was his person, the only one he had, and he would do what _he_ thought was right. He pulled back slightly, wiping the tears from Hermione’s face as he helped her settle back against her pillows. She shivered and he pulled the blankets up around her shoulders. It was then that he noticed she was in a hospital gown.

“What happened?” he asked.

“Perhaps we should let Miss Granger rest,” Dumbledore suggested.

Tom glared at his mentor. He had no plans of leaving Hermione’s side anytime soon.

“She’s fallen asleep again,” Dumbledore pointed out and Tom whirled back to see that he was right. Hermione’s eyes were closed and her breathing had evened out.

“What happened?” Tom repeated his question for Dumbledore.

“It’s her story to tell,” Dumbledore replied.

“Dammit, tell me what happened!” Tom insisted, standing from the bed.

“I’m going to have to ask you to take this conversation elsewhere,” Madam Davies said as she whipped out her wand and conjured a privacy screen around Hermione’s bed. “Visiting hours for Miss Granger are over for now.”

“When can I come back to see her?” Tom asked through gritted teeth.

Madam Davies narrowed her eyes. “In the morning.”

Tom wanted to kick something or hit, or curse, he was pissed and the only thing he knew that would make him feel better was to either be with Hermione or take his aggression out on someone or something else.

“Fine. Tell me what happened, Professor,” Tom said as politely as he could manage. His fists were clenched at his sides. Professor Dumbledore nodded and strode toward the doors.

Tom turned and placed a kiss on Hermione’s forehead. “I’ll be back first thing,” he promised her then followed Dumbledore from the room

* * *

The conversation with Dumbledore didn’t go the way Tom wanted it. Dumbledore was surprisingly sparse with information, only stating that Grindelwald freely gave up Hermione to him. He did assure Tom that she was in good health, but just needed time to rest and recover.

“And the Slytherins?” Tom asked.

Dumbledore’s heavy sigh was telling. “Detention for the rest of the year.”

“So no expulsion, typical,” Tom snorted. That news just solidified his own plans for payback.

“You’re a good man, Tom. Despite what I walked in on the other day. You’re a good friend to Miss Granger. I hope that means that this is at an end.”

“This will be over when the Slytherins figure out that the world does not revolve around them,” Tom replied.

“Tom,” Dumbledore sighed heavily. “I can’t condone violence against other students.”

“Then I won’t tell you of my plans,” Tom replied. “But I cannot allow this to stand, surely you can understand that.”

“No, Tom. I can’t understand that. The wizarding world is in turmoil right now, but violence, revenge, they are never the answer,” Dumbledore argued. Tom glared at him, he didn’t care what Dumbledore thought, his revenge was going forward.

“Tom, I have to warn you, that you could be expelled if harm comes to any of those boys,” Dumbledore’s voice was hard and cold.

Tom laughed. “Would that be because I’m Muggle-born and their pure-blood? Or would it be because they’re wizards and not a witch? Why would harming them result in my expulsion when they can _kidnap_ a student and get nothing but detentions.”

“They each also lost one hundred house points,” Dumbledore added. “If you harm them, I’ll know that you harmed them. As a professor at this school, I can’t let that go.”

“Fine, I won’t harm them,” Tom lied.

Dumbledore’s lips pinched tightly, and he stared at Tom for a long while, measuring him up, before nodding tightly.

Tom left Dumbledore’s office feeling as angry as he had going into it. His plans for revenge had just moved from immediate to long term.

* * *

_June 1943_

_Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_Hogsmeade, Scotland_

* * *

By the time June rolled around, Hermione was finally ready to leave the hospital wing. Tom spent every moment he could with her, but she had never told him the story of what happened. She just shook her head and changed the subject. Or pretended she was tired. Tom still didn’t know what happened to have caused such a long hospital stay, but he was grateful she was alright.

It was a week before final exams when she finally broke her silence on the subject. Tom hadn’t even asked her about it for weeks, he was still working on planning his revenge for the Slytherins. It wouldn’t do to get revenge immediately. Let them think they were going to not face any consequences for their actions. And if Tom played it right, perhaps he could lure them to his side at the same time. It wouldn’t do to make enemies of some of the most powerful pureblood heirs in the country.

“I think I’m ready,” Hermione said quietly. They were enjoying the weather underneath a beech tree near the lake when she spoke.

“For?” Tom asked absentmindedly, flipping through the book in front of them.

“To tell you what happened,” Hermione said, placing her hand on the book getting his attention.

Tom raised his eyebrows. “I’m ready to listen to however much you want to tell me,” he reassured her.

She smiled slightly and nodded. Taking a deep breath, and tucking a curl behind her ear, she began her tale. She started with how they weren’t talking and Tom found himself scowling, not at her though, never at her. At himself for being so foolish.

“When they cornered me, I knew it wasn’t going to be good,” Hermione murmured. “But I tried to fight, tried to figure my way out of there.”

Tom took her hands in his, running his thumbs over the backs of her hands, trying to soothe her.

“When I woke up, I wasn’t anywhere I recognized. The Slytherins were all gone, there was just this, very pale man. He looked like he’d been dipped in flour, actually,” she said with a little chuckle. “It was strange.”

“Was it Grindelwald?” Tom asked.

Hermione nodded. “I think so. He never actually introduced me, but he talked a lot. Mostly about nonsensical things, and he spoke in German quite a bit. But never said a word to me. I was in a… a cage in the corner of the room.” She shuddered and Tom’s heart thudded loudly. She’d been kept in a _cage_. The rage was white-hot in his belly, but he forced himself to sit still and listen to her story.

“They didn’t feed me, or give me any water. It’s why I was in the hospital wing so long. Even a couple of days without water is almost more than any human can handle.”

“Did you see Dumbledore? Did they duel?”

Hermione shook her head. “I did see Dumbledore, but there wasn’t a duel. Their conversation was...strange. Almost like they knew each other?” She looked up at him and Tom thought she looked so beautiful, so vulnerable that he leaned forward and pressed his lips to hers. She sighed into him. They sat there for a few minutes, just their lips pressed together, breathing each other in.

“Do you think it’s possible that Grindelwald and Professor Dumbledore know each other?” Hermione finally asked after pulling away.

“I’m not sure,” Tom said. “I guess anything is possible. What did they say?”

“Much of it didn’t make sense. But Dumbledore held up this charm. It was like a long diamond shape. Made of silver, but the center was blood-red.”

“A blood pact maybe?” Tom suggested. “It might explain why they didn’t duel.”

“Maybe?” Hermione shrugged. “You know the most ironic part? Grindelwald didn’t even argue about Dumbledore taking me. He said, ‘What was I to do with a filthy Mudblood anyway?’ Then muttered something about the grandiose gestures of British youth.”

“So your kidnapping wasn’t even ordered by Grindelwald?” Tom had thought it strange that Grindelwald would show interest in her. She was a nobody, even if word got out that she had almost perfect scores.

“Apparently not,” Hermione snorted. “I think Grindelwald was happy to get rid of me, actually. Saved him from having to wait until I died. Which I probably would have shortly if Professor Dumbledore hadn’t shown up.”

Tom nodded, then he told her his part of the story. About how Dumbledore had found him in the middle of torturing the four Slytherins for information.

“Tom, you can’t torture people,” Hermione said after his confession.

“I can when they hurt you,” Tom replied fiercely. He pulled her into a hug, tightening his arms around her. “Don’t you know what you mean to me? You’re my everything and I won’t let anything happen to you again.”

“Tom,” Hermione said, he could tell she was going to start one of her lectures on how she wasn’t an object, but he shushed her.

“Let me just hold you for a moment,” he whispered into her hair. She nodded and buried her face against his neck. Tom had never felt like this about anyone, and he was going to do whatever it took to keep Hermione safe. She was his.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **All of the thanks in the world to infallible angel and her excellent alpha/beta skills. So sorry this is so late, real-life for both me and my delightful beta has been a bit of a bear lately. I overdid it writing-wise in July with Camp NaNo and spent the first week and a half of this month not really writing anything.**
> 
> **Hopefully, the break did me good and I'll have the rest of the chapters of this story written and up by the end of the month/mid-September. Thanks as always for sticking with me, and don't worry! This story is not going to be abandoned!**
> 
> **You'll notice the number of chapters changed from 13 total to 12 total because I reworked the ending of this story and cut a chapter. Don't worry, you aren't missing anything, I promise! Chapter lengths will continue to be kind of monstrous for me at over 6k each, haha.**
> 
> **If you love this (or hate it) please let me know about in a review! Find me on Tumblr at crochetawayhpff. Enjoy!**

_Blitzkrieg - an intense military campaign intended to bring about a swift victory_

* * *

_September 1943_

_Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_Hogsmeade, Scotland_

* * *

Hermione didn’t like to admit that her time spent with Grindelwald still gave her nightmares. She had a feeling Tom knew, but since he didn’t say anything about it, she didn’t as well. The dark especially was hard for her, so she and Tom had slept with the light on most of the summer. Now that they were back at school, Hermione lit a blue-bell flame in a jar every night before bed. It helped a little.

Almost a month into the school year and she and Tom were practically joined at the hip. It was almost like they were back as firsties and Hermione was enjoying it immensely. Tom was completely attentive to her. Hermione was lapping up the attention and it was slowly starting to make her feel better about her ordeal in the spring. The Slytherins still made her jumpy, although Tom acted as if they weren’t there. Hermione wasn’t sure which action was better. Ignoring them seemed dangerous, but she knew that fearing them was equally dangerous.

She at least had a few things outside of her schoolwork to keep her mind off of her fear: she was brewing again and had let Tom in on the secret of her brew-room. Now three years into the project, she had quite the little lab setup. Slughorn was as careless with potions equipment as he was with ingredients and slowly Hermione had accumulated almost everything she needed to brew any potion she wanted.

Tom had also taken her into his confidence about his family. He seemed reluctant to tell her, which Hermione could understand, she’d kept her potions brewing from him after all, but it also felt like an olive branch and Hermione was quite sick of always fighting with Tom. Despite Marjory and the rest of the girls in her dorm being marginally kinder last year and this year, Tom still felt like her only friend.

Although, there wasn’t much of an update for Tom and his family. He’d looked in every newspaper, every genealogy book and not a single mention of the name Marvolo or Merope was found.

“You could just be a Muggleborn,” Hermione suggested delicately one day halfway through September.

Tom blew out a heavy breath through his nose. “I know,” he snapped. “But something tells me I’m not.”

“There’s nothing wrong with it, you know,” Hermione replied, narrowing her eyes at him. Her chest felt tight as an argument loomed on the horizon.

“I’m aware,” Tom’s voice was still tight, still held a promise of a fight in it. Hermione sighed and said nothing else. He was clearly not in the mood to discuss this, so she left him at their table in the library and went back into the Restricted Section looking for a potions book she hadn’t yet read. They were becoming harder and harder to find and she decided that she wanted to find some poisons. Perhaps she could fashion something like a bomb for combat. Storage would be difficult, but if she found a few contact poisons, then maybe she could work on creating some sort of housing for them.

Hermione was still searching the Restricted Section when she felt a presence behind her. She stiffened and turned to find Malfoy glaring at her.

“You got away once, Mudblood. It won’t happen again.”

“You’re an idiot,” Hermione replied, rolling her eyes. She sounded much cooler than she felt, and she clasped her hands together in hopes that he wouldn’t see them shaking.

“Watch your back.”

“Going to have to do your own dirty work, this time,” Hermione hissed. “Grindelwald didn’t want anything to do with me.”

Malfoy scowled and pulled his wand pointing it at her.

“I wouldn’t do that, Malfoy,” Tom’s silky voice sounded from behind her and Hermione breathed a sigh of relief, although she didn’t turn to face him. “I still haven’t gotten my payback for last year. Did you think I forgot?”

“What do you think you could possibly do to us?” Malfoy scoffed. “All we got was detention.”

“And when you and your friends turn up dead?” Tom asked. “Will you be so brave then?” He stepped around Hermione, standing in front of Malfoy’s wand and pushing it down with one hand. Tom’s wand was nowhere in sight.

“You can’t—you wouldn’t—you’d be expelled!” Malfoy stuttered.

Tom’s laugh was high-pitched and cruel, but it lit a fire in Hermione’s belly and she pressed her lips together tightly.

“Guess we’ll have to find out, won’t we? Bother Hermione again and you die.” Tom was deadly serious and Hermione knew he wasn’t bluffing, but Malfoy didn’t look like he believed him.

The two boys stared at each other for a long moment before Tom said, “Boo.” Malfoy jumped and scowling once more, turned and left the Restricted Section.

Tom whirled on her and gripped her hand tightly. “Thank Merlin, you’re alright.”

“Tom,” Hermione sighed, leaning her head against his chest. He wrapped both arms around her and Hermione felt safe for the first time in weeks.

“Please don’t storm off by yourself,” Tom murmured into her hair. “I don’t want anything to happen to you. I can’t go through what I did last year. I…” he trailed off and placed a kiss against her head and Hermione tightened her arms around him.

* * *

_October 1943_

_Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_Hogsmeade, Scotland_

* * *

Hermione slammed ber books down on the desk Tom already occupied in the common room. They didn’t study in the common room that often, but when Hermione didn’t find him anywhere else, she was irritated.

“Problem?” Tom asked, raising one eyebrow.

“Yes, there’s a bloody problem,” Hermione hissed and slumped into a chair next to him.

“With me?” Tom asked.

Hermione snorted. “Only in so far that you’re a _wizard_ and likely to get an apprenticeship over me, just a lowly, Muggleborn witch.”

“Oh,” Tom said, finally setting down his quill and giving her his full attention. “It wouldn’t be any different in the Muggle world.”

“I’m aware,” Hermione snapped. “Doesn’t mean I _like_ it.”

“Well, maybe someone here at Hogwarts would give you an apprenticeship. Slughorn, maybe?”

“Slughorn hasn’t taken a female apprentice in over twenty years of teaching. He’s not about to start now,” Hermione replied. “Do you know what my lot in life is expected to be?”

“I can—”

Hermione kept talking, acting like he hadn’t attempted to answer her question. “Housewitch. If I’m lucky, I’ll marry a rich pureblood. But not bloody likely, since I’m just a Muggleborn. So likely, I’ll marry a half-blood or a fellow Muggleborn and then I can _maybe_ work in a shop. If my husband lets me. It’s all so ridiculous.”

“Hermione,” Tom said, pulling her attention to him.

“What?”

“It would literally be no different in the Muggle world.”

“I know! But I thought with a wand and magic that I’d at least be considered an equal instead of a second-class citizen. Third class if you count my blood status.” She slumped further in the chair and picked at a loose thread on her robes, ignoring Tom entirely.

“And the kicker is because you’re a bloody wizard you _could_ get an apprenticeship, and if you ever figure out you’re _not_ a Muggleborn, you could have quite a high position within the Ministry. But not me.”

“Who do you imagine you’re marrying in all of these scenarios?” Tom finally asked.

“I don’t know,” Hermione muttered. “Doesn’t matter. Whoever it is won’t want his precious wife working. It’s why I have to take five years of C&E classes, isn’t it? Have to know how to get wine out of a tablecloth and cook the perfect bloody roast for when whoever I’m saddled with brings his boss home, hoping for a promotion. Why should his promotion be based on how well I can cook a roast anyway?”

“Hermione,” Tom said again. She finally looked up at him, he looked like he was holding back a laugh.

“Think this is funny, do you? I suppose you do. You’re not the one who has to learn to cook.”

“I think that if you marry someone who isn’t me, I must be dead,” Tom said. His tone was perfectly serious and Hermione gaped at him.

“I…” she didn’t know what to say. Did Tom want to _marry_ her?

“It doesn’t matter now,” he muttered quickly. “We have a few years before we have to worry about it.” He packed up his books and fled up the stairs to his dormitory as Hermione stared after him open-mouthed. Did Tom want to marry _her_?

* * *

_December 1943_

_Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_Hogsmeade, Scotland_

* * *

After their bizarre conversation back near Halloween, Hermione and Tom hadn’t spent much time together, despite the fact that Hermione was still worried about the Slytherins. Tom did still walk her to class, but he didn’t speak much and seemed absorbed in both his schoolwork and the search for his parents.

As the castle blissfully emptied for the Christmas holidays, Hermione began to worry about Tom now that there was nobody else to distract either of them with. She had to have misconstrued Tom’s words from the fall. There was no way he would want to marry her when he probably had his pick of girls who were pure-bloods and more likely to help his political standing. Besides, even if he did want to marry her. What kind of marriage would that be when they fought all the time? They can barely go a few months without fighting and as Hermione thought about it, she realized that they only seemed to get over their fights when they were forced to be in each other’s company for a holiday.

Her heart sank as that realization hit her. She and Tom were clearly not meant for each other if they couldn’t manage to get through the school year without fighting. There was only a year and a half of school left before they were on their own, and then what? Would they try to live together? The thought seemed absurd to Hermione. Besides, even in the Muggle world, living with someone she wasn’t married to was seen as shameful. She couldn’t imagine it would be any different here.

Hermione decided that she was going to be avoiding Tom for the holiday. Perhaps if she got over her attachment to him now, it wouldn’t hurt as bad when they went their separate ways after school. Even thinking it made her stomach hurt, but she was determined to protect herself in any way she could. Even if that meant protecting herself from Tom.

For the first time in years, Hermione didn’t spend the first night of break in Tom’s bed. They were the only Gryffindors, as usual, even all of the refugees had found places to go to, at least the Gryffindor ones had.

“Where were you?” Tom asked accusingly the following morning, slinking into the seat next to her at breakfast.

“In bed,” Hermione said in a low voice. The professors who stayed shared their table and Hermione really didn’t want to have this conversation with an audience.

Tom’s hand landed on her thigh and he squeezed tight enough that it was painful.

“Stop it,” Hermione hissed.

Tom glared at her and began fixing himself a plate of breakfast. Hermione had beaten him to the Great Hall by a good twenty minutes, so she was just finishing up. The moment she was done, she stood up and stormed out of the hall. Tom was right behind her.

“Hermione!”

“Go eat breakfast, Tom,” Hermione called over her shoulder and sped up. She had a potion brewing in her hidden room and wanted to look over her notes again before the next step.

“Damnit, Hermione!” Tom shouted, pulling her to a stop with a heavy hand on her shoulder. “What is going on?”

“Tom,” Hermione said with a sigh. “Let’s not argue. At least not here.”

“Fine,” Tom muttered and slid his hand down her arm until he reached her hand. He clasped her fingers in his tightly, almost too tightly and dragged her along to her hidden potions room. She regretted sharing it with him at that moment. Now he would know where to find her when she was avoiding him.

“What’s going on?” Tom asked again once they were safely tucked away.

“Nothing,” Hermione replied and reached around him to grab her notes.

“Damnit, something is going through that head. I can’t make it better if you don’t tell me,” Tom said through gritted teeth.

“Why do you always feel like it’s your responsibility to make it better?” Hermione asked.

Tom sighed. It was an old argument. Tom felt responsible for Hermione, but Hermione didn’t want that, didn’t need that from him.

“Please tell me what the problem is,” Tom said in a gentler tone.

“We leave school in a year and a half,” Hermione said, refusing to meet his gaze. “I won’t be able to get a job. At least not one to sustain me. Half the girls in my year have already signed betrothal contracts.”

“Why are you worried about this?” Tom asked, running a hand through his hair.

“Because someone has too!” Hermione hissed. “Where will I live? What will I do? How will I have any money? There are no jobs for muggleborn witches. There are no marriage prospects on my horizon. I have to figure something out in order to survive!”

“Me, Hermione! I’m your marriage prospect!” Tom shouted, stepping closer to her.

Hermione laughed. “We can’t even get along for longer than a month or two. How are we supposed to be married to each other, Tom? You aren’t being realistic. You need to marry some pureblood who can raise you politically. Not some orphaned, Muggleborn witch.”

“You’re fucking insane, you know that?” Tom asked right before he pressed his lips to hers. “There is no one else,” he murmured against her lips a moment later. “No pureblood who could hold a candle to you,” he said, his hot lips sliding along her jaw. Hermione clutched at his shoulders, knowing she should turn him away, but unable to do so. “I refuse to marry some twit just because it’s politically expedient. Not when I could have you in my bed.”

“Tom,” Hermione whined. She cleared her throat, attempting to push him away, but he wasn’t having any of it.

“Whatever your worries, we’ll deal with them,” Tom said into her ear. He had her back pressed against the wall and somehow one of Hermione’s legs had found its way around his hip.

“Where will we live?” she asked, giving into the fantasy for a moment.

“We’ll travel first,” Tom said as his kisses slid south along the column of her throat. “All over Europe, looking for the rarest, oldest, hardest to find magic.”

“With what money?” Hermione chuckled, although she could see the dream. She could practically feel it as he licked along her collar bone.

“I’ll figure it out,” Tom murmured. “Just stop this incessant worrying. Let me worry about it.” He pressed his forehead to hers, staring into her eyes. “Let me take care of you. I know you don’t want it, but I can do it. I’ll take care of us both. Please.”

Hermione bit her lip, staring into his dark blue eyes for a long time. She didn’t want to give up control, the worry bit at her, but she did believe Tom. She wanted Tom, wanted to choose him. That was half the problem, she thought Tom deserved better than her and it killed her to think of him with someone else.

“Alright,” she whispered.

Tom’s reaction was swift and fierce as he pressed his lips to hers. Hermione wound her hands around his shoulders, giving in to the bliss he was providing.

Hermione still wasn’t sure about Tom’s plan post-Hogwarts, but she was sure that she wanted Tom. She made up her mind to commit herself to him. He didn’t want anyone else, and really, she didn’t want anyone else either. That night, she followed him up the stairs to the boys' dormitory. Tom didn’t say anything, just let her climb into bed with him. She sighed as he wrapped his arms around her. She slept better than she had since the summer.

* * *

_January 1944_

_Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_Hogsmeade, Scotland_

* * *

Tom stared down at the book in front of him. He had been attempting to track Salazar Slytherin’s heirs for over two years and finally, he’d done it. The Gaunt family were distant heirs. And there in black and white. Marvolo Gaunt, born in 1848. No wonder he hadn’t found him when he was looking at _Daily Prophet’s_ from the 1880s. He followed the line of the book to see Merope Gaunt, born in 1907 and died in 1926. He traced a finger over her death date. It was the same as his birthdate. The old guilt washed over him, threatening to choke him, but Tom pushed it aside. His mother must have been weak to have died in childbirth, he decided. He clenched his teeth to see he had an uncle. Morphin Gaunt, born in 1900, no death date listed. There was a place of birth of Little Hangleton, which Tom wasn’t sure he knew where that was at, but it sounded British enough. He had a family. He wasn’t a Muggleborn. Elation should have swept through him and some part of him was excited about it, but another part, a larger part was preternaturally terrified.

He shoved away his fears and went to see Dumbledore. Now that he had a last name, perhaps his mentor could shed some light on his family. He was hopeful as he walked into Dumbledore’s office, smiling even.

“Tom, what can I do for you?” Dumbledore asked kindly.

“I was hoping you could tell me about my family,” Tom replied.

“Your family? The Riddle’s aren’t a wizarding family, as far as I know.

“I know,” Tom said. “But I think my mother was Merope Gaunt, daughter of Marvolo Gaunt.”

“Gaunt… now that is a name I haven’t heard in a long while,” Dumbledore mused. “I don’t think either of Marvolo’s children went to Hogwarts.”

“They didn’t? How would they have been educated?” Tom asked, his brow furrowed.

“The Gaunts were the worst sort of purebloods,” Dumbledore murmured, shaking his head sadly. “They didn’t believe in even mixing with half-bloods or Muggleborns. Marvolo was almost forty years older than me. I don’t know if he went to Hogwarts or not.”

“Marvolo is dead, as is my mother, Merope. But I have an uncle, Morphin who I think might still be alive,” Tom said.

Dumbledore looked at him sadly. “Even if he is still alive, I can’t imagine he’d want to reconnect, Tom. I can’t even begin to describe how awful the Gaunts are in their prejudice against those who aren’t pureblood.”

“What exactly makes a wizard pureblood?” Tom asked

“A wizard is considered pureblood if none of their grandparents are Muggles or Muggleborn,” Dumbledore replied. “It’s really an ancient definition that shouldn’t matter anymore.”

“But it does,” Tom said, cocking his head to the side. “Because I can trace my family back to the Gaunts, it’ll increase my chances at both the Ministry or getting an apprenticeship after Hogwarts.”

Dumbledore’s sigh was heavy. “You aren’t wrong. It shouldn’t matter, but it still does.”

“We should do something about that,” Tom muttered.

Dumbledore nodded and sighed again.

Tom thanked Dumbledore and left his office deep in thought. Knowing that the Gaunts were a pureblood family should help, but Tom wasn’t sure how yet. It’s not like he could change his name to Gaunt. Nor would he want to. Tom Gaunt sounded like the name of a ghost in a Muggle children’s story.

He shook his head, he should tell Hermione. Tom reddened when he realized he’d told Dumbledore before Hermione. Well, what she didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her, he reasoned and hurried off to find her.

* * *

Tom finally tracked her down in her potions room. He looked around interestedly to see lots of small, glass bulbs.

“What are these for?” he asked, picking one up. It shattered in his hand and he hissed when he cut himself.

“Godric, are you alright?” Hermione asked, hurrying over. “They’re prototypes, but I don’t have the consistency of the glass quite right. Too fragile.”

“Prototypes for what?” Hermione siphoned the blood from his hand and murmured a healing spell, they both watched as the cut closed itself.

“Bombs, well, sort of,” Hermione hemmed. “For use in a duel, I thought. Contact poisons, smoke, distractions, things like that.”

“None of that would be sanctioned in a proper duel,” Tom replied.

“Right, well for the war then,” Hermione said. “Because there’s one in the Muggle world and with Grindelwald still out there…”

“There could be one in the Wizarding world too,” Tom finished for her. Hermione nodded sharply and turned back to her potion.

“I have news,” Tom announced, then winced at how loud his voice sounded in the small room.

“Oh?” Hermione asked, reading over her notes once more and adding lionfish spine to the potion in front of her.

“I’ve figured out who my family is.”

“You have?” Hermione whirled to face him, a look of elation on her face. “Tom! That’s excellent news! Congratulations!” She threw her arms around him and hugged him close. Tom closed his eyes, breathing in the scent of pure Hermione, enjoying the way she felt in his arms.

“Who are they?” Hermione asked.

“Their name is Gaunt, but there’s only an uncle left. My mother’s brother.”

“And where are they?”

“Somewhere called Little Hangleton. Or that’s where they were. Who knows if they are still there.”

“Pureblood?”

Tom nodded.

“Then it’s likely they are still there. I wonder why it took so long?”

“Dumbledore said they didn’t go to Hogwarts.” The words were out before Tom realized and he wanted to kick himself. He was usually much more controlled than this. He didn’t know what was wrong with him, but he thanked Godric when Hermione didn’t seem upset.

“Little Hangleton is in Shropshire. We could go visit this summer, see if we can find your uncle,” Hermione offered. “We’ll both have our Apparition license by then.”

“Alright,” Tom agreed, excited by the idea of seeing more of Britain than Scotland and London. “Let’s do it.”

* * *

_February 1944_

_Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_Hogsmeade, Scotland_

* * *

The longer Tom thought about travelling post-Hogwarts, the more excited he became with the prospect. It turned out that it was _quite_ popular amongst the pureblood set. And now that Tom had found out that he was practically a pureblood, he was a little obsessed with pureblood culture. He was glad to not have been raised with all of the rules, some of the things Potter and Delacour discussed were downright archaic, but taking a grand tour was his new plan after graduation.

He hadn’t lied to Hermione, but he hadn’t been thinking of the future, of their future. The idea that Hermione imagined herself married to anyone _but_ Tom had him seeing red most of the time, but she was right. Hogwarts wasn’t going to last forever and as orphans, they were going to need to find some sort of permanent funding sooner rather than later.

He needed to figure out how to make the grand tour happen _with_ Hermione. While they weren’t unheard of for wizarding purebloods, witches hardly ever went. Instead, they worked on a trousseau and spent the year planning their wedding. Tom thanked Merlin again for being a Gryffindor, had he and Hermione been Slytherins, perhaps this would have been impossible, but Tom was beginning to think that the Gryffindors were certainly less traditional than the Slytherins in some aspects.

“A grand tour, Riddle?” Delacour asked. “Where will you go?”

“Anywhere I can, for as long as I can. I’d really like to see every major wizarding library on the continent.”

“Who are you planning to go with?” Potter asked as he reclined on his bed. After the disastrous date with Hermione last year, Potter had fallen into line quite neatly. As had most of the other Gryffindors. The Ravenclaws were easy, and Tom vowed to begin working on the Hufflepuffs next. There were fewer pureblood Hufflepuffs than there were Gryffindors and Ravenclaws, but it wouldn’t hurt to court them too. After careful consideration, Tom decided it wasn’t worth courting the Slytherins, even if they held the most power politically, having three of the houses aligned with him should be more than enough. His plan was little more than an idea, but he had to start somewhere.

“Hermione and whoever plans to sponsor us,” Tom grinned. “You offering, Potter?”

“And miss a chance to tour with the delectable Miss Granger? I’ll write to my parents this afternoon.”

Tom’s grin turned into a smirk and he nodded, pleased. The Potters were old and pureblood, he could do worse than align with them.

* * *

“A potions apprentice, you say? Why ever would you want to do that?” An old man with a walrus moustache peered closely at Hermione. Tom could hear the suspicion in his voice and decided to step in.

“Miss Granger is quite gifted with potions, actually, Mr Bones,” Tom said diplomatically. “We might have difficulty finding a potions master willing to take her on, but we’re still hopeful.”

Bones harrumphed and when Slughorn called him over, Tom gripped Hermione’s arm above the elbow and led her away.

“What are you doing?” Tom hissed.

“What do you mean?”

“We’re supposed to be networking, not haranguing the guests.” Tom had backed her into a corner near the refreshments table. It was the third such event that Slughorn had held this year and it was going about as poorly as the rest of them, which was to say, very poorly. Tom rubbed the bridge of his nose with one hand. Hermione was brilliant, but she was a terrible politician.

“We should be rubbing elbows, not making waves,” Tom explained quietly. “This isn’t the time to spout your opinions about your station in life.”

Hermione narrowed her eyes at Tom and he realized he was in for a tongue-lashing. He grabbed her drink glass and set it down before guiding her from the party entirely. When they were out in the corridor and several corridors away, Hermione let loose on him.

She pulled from his grip and pointed her finger at him, poking him in the chest. “I don’t want to be a _housewitch_. Not yours or anyone else’s. And I won’t be if I have to fight tooth and nail to get a spot in this damned society, I will!”

“We should work within the establishment to make the changes we want. There’s a time and place for fighting and this isn’t,” Tom said quietly through gritted teeth. He hoped his measured tone would get Hermione to stop shouting.

“We’ll never be _in_ the establishment, Tom! I’m a Muggleborn and you don’t even know what you are. The Gaunts are pureblood, even _Sacred Twenty-Eight_ ,” the sarcasm dripped from her voice, “but the Riddles? Nobody knows. You’re a half-blood at best.”

“Still, having a name like the Gaunts behind me is better than nothing,” Tom insisted. “Besides, to not work within the system means a revolution. Grindelwald is still out there, should we be fighting two wars?”

“Of course, not,” Hermione snapped. “But that doesn’t mean I’m going to pretend to be something I’m not. Well behaved women rarely make history.”

Tom snorted. “Oh, now you want to make history?”

“I just want a place at the table! And I won’t get it if I don’t demand it.”

“Keep your dangerous and radical political ideas to yourself at the next of these or I guarantee Slughorn _won’t_ be inviting us back.” Tom glared at her before turning on his heel and walking back to the Gryffindor tower without her. It was inexcusably rude to leave her standing in the hallway but Hermione was right to some extent and that pissed Tom off. She was right that she wouldn’t get what she wanted without demanding it, but didn’t she see how poorly her behaviour reflected on him?

* * *

_March 1944_

_Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_Hogsmeade, Scotland_

* * *

Tom hated fighting with Hermione. He hated the fact that she wouldn’t speak to him, she barely even looked at him and it burned him up inside because he knew that she was partially right. Although, he still thought his idea about dismantling the system from the inside was the better way to go. It wasn’t necessarily easier, but hopefully, it would be a little less bloody than an actual war. Besides, not only was the Muggle war still raging, the threat of Grindelwald loomed ever closer. In the last few weeks, Tom had spent significant time studying Grindelwald and what the British press was saying about him. Grindelwald wanted to dominate the _entire_ world. He wanted to do away with the Statute of Secrecy and make Muggles slaves to wizards. The idea was mind-boggling to Tom. The wizarding population was a tiny fraction of the total population on earth. It smacked of a future revolt to have 1% of the population rule over the rest of the world seemed illogical and horrifying. If not downright ridiculous. Exactly how would Grindelwald go about subjugating that many people?

“Professor Dumbledore,” Tom asked one day just as he was finishing up tending to the cages of rats for the fourth years. “What are your thoughts on Grindelwald?”

“On the wizard himself? Or what he advocates for?” Dumbledore asked shrewdly.

“Both, either?” Dumbledore frowned then invited Tom to sit and poured them both tea.

“Who’s the strongest wizard in your class?” Dumbledore asked. “The one who not only knows the most but is also the first to get a spell right?”

“Hermione,” Tom admitted. He was good, but Hermione worked harder, and she instinctively understood things that Tom sometimes struggled with.

“Exactly,” Dumbledore replied. “And yet, Grindelwald would want Hermione’s parents enslaved. All Muggles really, what would become of Hermione if Grindelwald had succeeded already? Do you think she’d be accepted into the wizarding class because she had powers? Does that seem right to you? To ignore any future wizards just because they were born from Muggles?”

“No,” Tom replied. “What would he do with Muggleborns now?”

“He would probably allow them to be incorporated into wizarding society, but I have no doubt that future generations of Muggleborns would either be subjugated along with their parents or killed outright by the Muggles they’d be forced to live among,” Dumbledore said. “Grindelwald has grievances that are perhaps understandable, however, the way he wants to go about changing the world is reckless and stupid.”

“What are his grievances?” Tom asked. “He’s a pureblood, right? The wizarding world already seems rather set up for purebloods. What could he possibly have a grievance about?”

Dumbledore’s sigh was heavy and Tom wondered how exactly Dumbledore and Grindelwald knew each other. “It’s a long story, that isn’t very interesting,” he said after a long moment.

Tom frowned, that wasn’t really a reply, but he decided to let it go for now. “Hermione struggles with her place in our society. She wants more than what she has.”

“As she should,” Dumbledore nodded approvingly. “She’s the brightest witch in her year, and yet destined to be a housewitch. I, too, would struggle with that.”

“Then how can we change it?” Tom asked. “I want her to be happy. I want her to do whatever it is that will make her happy, but I don’t have the power to make that happen.”

“The wizarding world could definitely use some shaking up. You and Miss Granger are certainly bright enough, ambitious enough to do it if you work hard at it. But I fear that nothing will change while Grindelwald is still out there. The spectre of war is not the time or place for societal change.”

“And who will defeat Grindelwald? Nobody on the continent seems capable _or_ willing. It’s rumored, sir, that _you_ are the only wizard capable. I certainly could see that being true, considering you were able to free Hermione from his clutches last year.” Tom knew he was being a bit of a brown-noser here, but there was definitely _something_ going on between Grindelwald and Dumbledore and he wanted to know what it was.

Dumbledore’s eyes narrowed at Tom and he scratched his chin. Tom didn’t say anything, just waited patiently for Dumbledore to elaborate.

“I had run across Grindelwald in my past,” Dumbledore finally said.

“How long ago?” Tom asked

“Too many years ago,” Dumbledore said, shaking his head. “It doesn’t matter now.”

“It does if you are the only one capable of defeating him,” Tom insisted. “If you are, why haven’t you yet? Why have you allowed his reign of terror to continue?”

Dumbledore sighed heavily. “I can’t explain it now, Tom. It’s too complicated, too involved.”

“Profess—”

“No!” Dumbledore snapped. “Now, we’ve spoken enough for the day. You are excused.”

Tom frowned at how quickly Dumbledore went from resigned to flinty and stood. He nodded respectfully and left his office. Dumbledore had certainly given him a lot to think about. Both in terms of Grindelwald and how Dumbledore knew him and what he and Hermione should do about their future.

He was already attempting to align as many pureblood and half-blood families to him as he could, he had all of the Gryffindors on friendly terms, even most of the refugees. Maybe he could form some sort of group or coalition? Did the wizarding world have political parties like the Muggles did? Elections weren’t really a thing, he knew that. Wizengamot seats were passed down along house lines or appointed by the Minister for Magic and the Minister was elected by the Wizengamot. It was about as much of a closed-loop as a system could be, which made it exceedingly difficult to break into, but perhaps with the help of the purebloods he had been courting, he might be able to make some headway on it. It was definitely something to think about.

* * *

_May 1944_

_Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_Hogsmeade, Scotland_

* * *

“You have to tell me what the problem is,” Tom repeated to a crying and shaking Hermione. He found her just as she was barreling out of the common room. He coaxed her back inside and had sequestered them in the far corner. Hermione was too upset to say or do anything but sob into her hands.

Tom gave it up as a bad job and wrapped his arms around her shoulders. He wasn’t going to get anything out of her when she was this upset. He just couldn’t figure out what could have possibly happened to have gotten her this way. The first thing he had done was check for her injuries, but when he couldn’t find any, he’d decided to try and get her to talk to him. Since that didn’t work either, he resolved to wait her out.

Finally, after a solid twenty minutes of crying, Hermione quieted to sniffles.

“What happened?” Tom asked quietly, he breathed in the scent of her hair, trying to calm himself before whatever she said upset him. She was still in his arms, her face pressed against his chest. She muffled something before Tom pulled back and looked at her.

“You know the crups that Rubeus and I had found?” Hermione asked. She had befriended a fourth year, Rubeus Hagrid who was a half-giant with an affinity for magical creatures. A few weeks prior, they’d found an abandoned litter of crups near the edge of the Forbidden Forest and were keeping them near the gamekeeper's hut. Feeding them, socializing them, playing with them. It was the one activity Hermione had taken up that didn’t directly involve schoolwork and while Tom thought it was rather useless, she seemed to enjoy it.

“What happened?” Tom asked again when she broke off into a fresh wave of tears.

“There’s one in my bed, it says…” she stuttered and broke herself off, burying her face in her hands again. Whatever had happened, it wasn’t good. Tom took a deep breath, willing his fury to stay at a low simmer until he actually had details. A quick glance around the common room told him that it was mostly empty. He stood and pulled Hermione up with him, marching them both toward the girl’s dormitories. He pushed Hermione up the stairs and cast a levitation charm at his feet to follow her. It was tricky to be precise because Tom had to not touch anything in order to avoid triggering the charm that would reject him from the girl’s tower.

When they reached Hermione’s dorm, she pushed open the door then turned around, her eyes closed tightly. Tom let himself down softly, inside the door to her room. He frowned when he got a look at her bed. There was a dead crup on it, its throat had been slit. And written above the crup on the stone wall were the words: ‘You’re next!’ They looked to be written in blood. It was too much blood for one crup puppy.

“Have you checked the other puppies?” Tom asked. Hermione shook her head and Tom sighed. He had a feeling the Slytherins had been much too quiet this year. As he stood there trying to decide what to do next, a couple of Hermione's dormmates trickled in.

“Riddle! What are you doing here?” Doyle asked.

Tom frowned and gestured at Hermione’s bed. Hermione had slunk down the wall next to the door, burying her face into her knees. Tom decided to try a magic-detection charm he’d been reading about, he wasn’t sure if he would be able to tell who it was, as the charm wasn’t explicit, but he hoped that if it was one of the four Slytherins from last year, he might recognize their signature.

He twisted his wand and hissed the incantation as the other Gryffindor girls muttered under their breath and watched him. He ignored them but was pleased when Doyle had crouched down next to Hermione and pulled her into a hug.

A glyph appeared on the wall above the writing and Tom recognized it as the glyph associated with the House of Rosier.

“Go get Dumbledore,” he muttered and one of the other girls squeaked and ran from the room.

He followed her out, but he had no intention of following her to Dumbledore. No, he had a certain Slytherin to find and punish. And he had just the spell in mind to do it.

* * *

It turned out to be remarkably easy to lure Rosier and friends out of the castle and into the Forbidden Forest at midnight. All he’d done was challenge Rosier to a duel and named Potter as his second. Rosier had named Malfoy, but Tom wasn’t surprised with Black and Lestrange also showed up at the pre-arranged meeting spot.

It was the backside of Black Lake, barely into the Forbidden Forest, but completely hidden from view from all parts of the castle, including the gamekeeper’s hut. The perfect spot to hold an illegal duel. Tom had no intention of duelling Rosier though. Not really. There was only one spell he wanted to cast, although, perhaps he’d need to put up a bit of an effort, just for show. Especially with as many witnesses that had shown up.

“You know the rules, Riddle?” Malfoy asked.

Riddle raised an eyebrow and said nothing. He’d already warned Potter that it was going to get ugly.

Rosier frowned when Tom didn’t say a word and twiddled with his wand. Malfoy sighed and counted them down. Tom stood still, waiting for Rosier to strike. Rosier’s wand twirled faster and faster in his fingers as Tom waited. It seemed Rosier was attempting to play the same game. Tom almost felt bad for him. Almost.

“ _Expelliarmus!”_ Rosier finally shouted. Tom deftly twirled out of the way of the attack.

“ _Înţepa cu suliţa,_ ” Tom hissed. Rosier just stood there with a confused look on his face as a huge stake rose up out of the ground and impaled him, arse first. Just like the Romanians used to do in the fifteenth century. Rosier’s scream as the steak burst through his chest was loud, and higher pitched than Tom had expected.

He cocked his head to the side and strode closer to Rosier, inspecting the work of the spell. It was quite impressive, powerful even with how quickly the stake had risen from the earth and impaled him.

“Riddle!” Malfoy shouted, running forward. “You weren’t supposed to cast anything you couldn’t heal! I thought you knew the rules!” Malfoy had his wand pointed at Tom, until Tom turned and glared at him.

“I do know the rules, Malfoy,” Tom spat. “I told you earlier this year not to fuck with Hermione. It’s not my fault Rosier chose to ignore me.”

Rosier coughed, and blood spilled from his lips, dripping down his face as his breathing stuttered and then stopped altogether. Tom kicked Rosier’s shoe and his body twitched once and then fell still.

“Are you going to admit that you were with Rosier when he killed an innocent crup and put it in Hermione’s bed?” Tom asked. His voice was low and while adrenaline pumped through his veins, he wasn’t nervous. He was energized.

“Uh, no,” Malfoy mumbled. “It was all Rosier’s idea.” Malfoy began backing away from the clearing quickly, Lestrange and Black on his heels.

“Not so fast,” Tom called, flicking his wand and placing a simple shield ward around the small clearing. “There is the matter of Rosier’s body.”

Potter coughed behind him and Tom turned, lifting an eyebrow, but Potter didn’t look horrified, he looked impressed and Tom smirked turning back to the Slytherins.

“What do you expect us to do with it?” Black asked. His voice was carefully neutral and Tom’s smirk deepened into a grin.

“I don’t care,” Tom shrugged. “But make sure it’ll never be found.”

“They will expel you for this!” Lestrange shouted.

Tom laughed. “No, they won’t. Rosier ran away. You three will corroborate it. Wasn’t he set to marry some troll from Hufflepuff? An easy explanation. All you have to do is provide it.”

“Why should we?” Malfoy asked. “We saw what happened, we’ll go back and tell Slughorn, we’ll tell Dippet. Even Dumbledore won’t be able to save you if he finds out you _murdered_ someone.”

“Oh, murder is that what we’re calling it?” Tom asked. “I’d call it payback. Revenge. Even justice perhaps. Wasn’t it Rosier’s idea to kidnap Hermione and give her to Grindelwald last year?”

“But he didn’t kill _her_!” Lestrange insisted.

“Because you four were too stupid to figure out that wasn’t Grindelwald’s objective!” Tom hissed. “Now get rid of his body or I can practice that spell on all three of you.”

Lestrange had his wand out and pointed at Tom in a flash, but Potter was quicker.

“ _Expelliarmus_ ,” Potter whispered and Lestrange’s wand sailed over into Potter’s waiting hand.

“Any more tricks?” Tom asked quietly.

“Fuck,” Malfoy muttered. “Fuck!”

“Just transfigure him,” Black said. “Into a branch or something and toss him into the woods.”

“A rock,” Malfoy muttered, pointing his wand at Rosier. Malfoy’s spell lit up the clearing as Rosier shrank into a rock, the stake still protruded from the earth and Rosier’s transfigured body hit the ground with a dull thud.

“I hope for your sake that it holds,” Tom murmured, nodding toward the rock. Malfoy ignored him and transfigured the stake into a rock too. Then he turned on his heel and strode out of the clearing without even bothering to see if Lestrange and Black were following him. Lestrange held out his palm and Potter tossed him his wand. He threw it short though and Lestrange had to bend down to pick it up.

Black gave Tom a long, considering look before following his friends from the clearing.

“Godric, Tom,” Potter said several minutes after the Slytherins had left.

“Nobody fucks with Hermione. I warned them last year, and now they know what I’m willing to do about it.”

Potter sighed and nodded. Some of the tension left Tom’s shoulders. He had been worried about Potter’s reaction to it all but was pleased when he took it in stride.

* * *

“You did what?” Hermione hissed. Tom appreciated the whisper, even though they were having the conversation in her makeshift potions lab just a few days after Rosier’s disappearance.

“He won’t be around to plot against you anymore,” Tom replied. “It doesn’t matter—”

“Tom, it matters if you _killed_ someone.”

“I warned him, Hermione,” Tom said coldly. “I warned them all and he was too stupid to take my warning to heart. Now the rest of them will know and they’ll leave you alone.”

Hermione sighed. “I understand, and I am grateful, but you can’t just go killing the people who get in your way.”

“I will if they hurt what belongs to me,” Tom said without thinking and cringed when Hermione immediately tensed up. He braced himself for an argument and was only slightly surprised when she didn’t really give him one.

“I belong to no one Tom Marvolo Riddle. I’ve told you this over and over again and you still don't believe it.” The look she gave him was full of disappointment and she swept out of the room.

Tom cursed and threw one of the empty bomb canisters at the wall, only slightly mollified at hearing it crash and the glass sprinkle to the floor.

* * *

_June 1944_

_Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_Hogsmeade, Scotland_

* * *

“I’m only asking because of the issues you had with Rosier last year,” Dumbledore said quietly. He sounded far older than he looked and Tom felt bad that he had caused his mentor some strain.

“I assure you, Professor. I don’t know anything about Rosier’s whereabouts,” Tom replied. “I heard he ran off though?”

Dumbledore nodded. “That _is_ the going theory, however, I have my doubts.”

“Why is that?” Tom asked. He knew he should drop it, to avoid any suspicion falling onto him, but he wanted to know what Dumbledore knew.

“He didn’t make a withdrawal from Gringotts,” Dumbledore said. “His parents knew he had some money on him, but not enough to sustain him for any amount of time.”

“And he’s been gone for weeks now,” Tom said, looking like he was deep in thought. “Is it possible he secured a job or apprenticeship on the continent?”

“Anything is possible,” Dumbledore said lightly. “I’m glad to hear that you had nothing to do with it though, Tom.”

“So you do suspect foul play?”

“Yes,” Dumbledore nodded. “I do.”

Tom nodded and willed his heart to stay calm. Just because Dumbledore suspected foul play didn’t mean he suspected _Tom_ of foul play.

“Grindelwald?” Tom suggested. It had been Rosier’s idea to kidnap Hermione and bring her to Grindelwald after all.

“That’s what I fear,” Dumbledore admitted sadly.

Tom held in his smirk, but it was a near thing. Killing Rosier had been a benefit in so many ways. Dumbledore didn’t suspect him but also had another reason to go after Grindelwald, which only benefited Tom. Grindelwald was a hindrance in any of Tom’s future plans and he needed to be out of the way for Tom to be able to move forward.

He left his meeting with Dumbledore in higher spirits than he went in. Hermione was still ignoring him, blaming it on her schoolwork and upcoming exams. Tom didn’t care. Summer holidays would start soon and she’d forgive him soon enough.

* * *

_August 1944_

_Gaunt Shack_

_Little Hangleton, Shropshire, England_

* * *

“Are you sure this is it?” Hermione asked, her lip lifting in a sneer. Tom tamped down his anger as he peered at the tiny, dilapidated shack before them. It looked like a strong wind would blow the whole thing over, although with the amount of foliage that had grown up around it, perhaps not. Perhaps that was the only thing keeping it all together? Tom shuddered.

“It is, but maybe nobody lives here anymore,” Tom said.

A curse flew out one of the open windows and Hermione turned to Tom with her eyebrow raised. “Pretty sure that was human-ish.”

“Maybe it’s not the Gaunts then,” Tom said more to himself than to Hermione.

“Maybe,” Hermione replied. Tom sighed. He was frustrated, it had taken him ages to figure out exactly where within the vicinity of Little Hangleton that the Gaunts lived. There was a huge manor house owned by the Riddle family, so Tom assumed his father’s family lived there and he planned to visit them, but first, he wanted to meet the wizarding side. The Riddles were as Muggle as Muggle could be.

Tom took a deep breath and strode forward, knocking swiftly on the door. He peered closely to see that the thing hanging from the door wasn’t a stray vine, but a dead snake and he recoiled.

The door was ripped open and a bedraggled old man with gray hair down to his shoulders opened it. The smell wafting from him or the shack or both threatened to overwhelm Tom. It did overwhelm Hermione who gagged and turned. She kept her shoulder pressed to Tom’s though. Tom appreciated the silent show of support.

“What do you want?” the man asked in a terribly thick northern accent.

“Morfin Gaunt?” Tom asked.

The man peered at Tom, suspicion heavy in his brow. “What’s it to you? Riddle ain’t ya?”

Tom nodded. “I’m your nephew, Merope was my mother.”

“Aye, I know,” Morfin nodded, then tilted his head to look around Tom. “Who’s that?”

“This is Hermione, a friend of mine,” Tom said. The man stank to high heaven and lived in a hellhole, but perhaps he wasn’t as terrible as he seemed.

“Looks like a pretty little thing, ever think about sharing?” Morfin leered. Hermione had moved herself firmly behind Tom at that comment and Tom narrowed his eyes at the other man.

“What can you tell me of my family?” Tom asked. “Of my mother? My grandfather?”

Morfin cackled and withdrew a wand. Tom snapped his wand into his own hand and held it aloft. It was clear by Morfin’s actions that he didn’t want to reconnect.

“What do you care about your family? Off at that fancy school?”

“I guess I don’t,” Tom snapped and began backing away from the door. He wasn’t going to bother with Morfin, it was clear his uncle was insane. As if to prove Tom’s thoughts correct, Morfin threw back his laugh and cackled. Hermione tightened her hand on Tom’s free wrist and Apparated them away.

“Are you alright?” she asked him quietly from about a mile down the dirt road that led to the Gaunt shack.

“Fine,” Tom snapped.

“Tom,” Hermione said, placing her hand on his chest. “It’s okay to be disappointed. He was…”

“Awful.”

“Disgusting,” Hermione added with a small laugh. “Do you want to go see your father’s family now?”

Tom sighed. “Yes and no. They are just Muggles, what does it matter?”

“What if they want a relationship?” Hermione asked.

“I’m a wizard, they probably never understood that about my mother. If they didn’t, what does a relationship with them even look like? Besides, they left me in an orphanage.”

Hermione shrugged. “Maybe they didn’t know about you? You won’t know until you try.”

Tom sighed and tilted his head back, the bright, August sun filtered through the trees and though it was hot, it felt better in the shade. Hermione was right until he actually introduced himself to them, he would never know. Part of him hoped they were just as awful as Morfin and he could ignore them entirely, while another part of him hoped that they wanted him. It was a powerful thing to be wanted and he only felt it from Hermione.

“Alright,” he nodded. Hermione grinned up at him and linked her arm with his, before leading him down the road. The Gaunt shack was not far from where the Riddle house stood on a large hill just outside of the village proper.

The walk was pleasant, but Tom was nervous again when he knocked on the door. It opened promptly, there was a butler standing there.

“Can I help you?”

“I was hoping to see Mr or Mrs Riddle,” Tom said. While he’d found some things out about the Riddle family, he didn’t even know if there was a Mr or Mrs Riddle.”

“Are they expecting you?” the butler looked down his nose at Tom and Hermione. Tom frowned, but Hermione spoke before he could.

“They aren’t, but they will want to see us,” Hermione said with a pleasant smile. “It’s been ages since we’ve seen each other.”

The butler's expression didn’t change, but he stepped back and allowed them to follow him inside. He walked down a long ostentatious hallway to a sitting room.

“Your names?” the butler asked just before he opened the door.

“Tom Riddle and Hermione Granger,” Hermione responded. If the name Tom Riddle meant anything to the butler, he kept a straight face.

“A Mr Riddle and Miss Granger to see you,” the butler announced just after he opened the door and swept aside allowing Tom and Hermione to enter after him.

Tom held his head high and entered the room. It was as ostentatious as the hallway with gilded wall coverings and portraits hanging everywhere. It looked like something out of a Victorian novel. There were three people inside the room, each with a teacup in hand. An older couple with greying hair and a younger man who was the spitting image of Tom.

Hermione’s hand tightened on Tom’s arm.

“Is that?” the woman said, standing as she set her teacup on the low table before her. “Are you?” She walked closer, holding her hands out to Tom. “Tom, baby Tom!” she cried and touched his face. Tears were in her eyes and she smiled. “Oh, I’ve looked for you! For years, I’ve looked for you. I’m your grandmother, Mary Riddle.”

“Hello,” Tom said around the lump in his throat. The acceptance and love in her eyes was more than Tom could take and when Mary, who was at least a foot shorter than him, threw her arms around Tom’s shoulders and held on to him, Tom couldn’t help from wrapping his own around her frail body. She cried against his chest and Tom felt a tear leak out of his own eyes before hastily wiping it away.

“Mary!” a sharp voice spoke and Tom looked up to see the older man glaring at them. “You don’t know who that is. You ca—”

Mary pulled herself free from Tom and whirled around back to her husband. “He is the spitting image of our son. How can you even say that? Look at him, George!” She wrapped her arm around Tom’s and yanked him forward. “This is our grandson. The only one we’re likely to ever get. And you want to what? Cast him out based on what that lump says?” Mary gestured vaguely to the man who must have been Tom’s father.

“Mother!” Tom Senior shouted. “He’s a freak! Just like she was.”

“I don’t care,” Mary said.

“He’s brought a girl, he’s only here because he knocked her up and needs money,” George sneered.

Hermione sniffed behind Tom and he turned to see her glaring at George. “I am _not_ pregnant, not that it’s any business of yours.”

Tom smirked at her and turned back to see George striding toward them with his hand raised. Tom stood in front of Mary and blocked the blow. He didn’t get a second, because Hermione had her wand out and sent a knock-back jinx at him. He fell back hard against the floor, his head knocking nastily against a table leg and he lost consciousness.

“See! Freaks!” Tom Senior shrieked.

“Oh, hush,” Hermione spat. “We’re not freaks just because we can do a little magic. Is that a common occurrence in this house?” she asked.

“What?” Tom Senior seemed terrified as he looked between Hermione and Tom.

“Does your father often hit your mother?” Hermione repeated her question.

“I don’t—”

“Yes,” Mary said. “Yes, but I des—”

“You deserve nothing!” Hermione snapped. “Pig,” she muttered as she strode forward and kicked George in the foot.

She stuck her wand in the face of Tom Senior and he quailed before her, falling back onto the sofa behind him and a large spot darkened in his trousers. “Disgusting,” Hermione muttered. “Listen here you snivelling coward. You protect your mother from your father or I’ll be back to take care of both you and him. Do you understand?”

“I don’t...I can’t...he’ll…”

“He’s shorter than you. You could, you chose not to because you are a coward,” she hissed.

Tom turned back to his grandmother. “I can take care of him for you,” he said, cupping her cheek. “Just tell me to do so and I’ll take care of him permanently. I won’t let him hurt you. You don’t have to live like this.”

“Tom,” she smiled sadly and brushed her hand across his forehead. “I knew you would be a sweet boy. Just like my Tom was before George got so interested in him.” Her smile was sad and she shook her head. “You should leave. Live well and I’ll be happy.”

“You don’t—”

“Please,” Mary said quietly. “It’ll be better for us all if you just leave. Don’t come back. I’ll do what I can to keep you in the will, but…”

“I don’t care about the will,” Tom muttered. The lump in his throat was back as he realized what his grandmother was saying. She wanted him to go, so she could take the brunt of George and Tom Senior’s anger. He shook his head and pulled her into his arms again. He couldn’t kill George or Tom without bringing down the Muggle authorities on them. It was too big of a risk that Mary might face the consequences. Especially, since George was violent.

“I’ll check in on you,” Tom promised. “If you need anything, let me know and I’ll come,” Tom said.

“You’re a good boy,” Mary replied, squeezing him tightly. She released him with a bright smile. “You should go, both of you. I’m so glad that you came though.”

Tom nodded and looked back to see his father was sporting a rapidly darkening eye and his left hand had broken out in boils. He lifted one eyebrow at Hermione and she shrugged.

“ _Stupefy_ ,” Tom hissed, pointing his wand at George once more. “That will keep him out for a few hours.”

Tom grabbed Hermione’s hand and left, but vowed to himself to be back to check on Mary as soon as he could next summer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N: The Romanian translation in this chapter was from Google Translates to mean 'impale'. If you speak Romanian and I have buggered it up completely, please let me know and I'll fix it! Thanks!**


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **All of the thanks in the world to infallible angel and her excellent alpha/beta skills.**
> 
> **You'll notice the number of chapters changed (again) from 12 total to 11 total because I reworked the ending of this story and cut a(nother) chapter. Don't worry, you aren't missing anything, I promise! Chapter lengths will continue to be kind of monstrous see the below at nearly 10k! Chapter 11 is also done, just waiting on my very talented beta to get through it and it'll be up and this story will be at it's end!**
> 
> **If you love this (or hate it) please let me know about in a review! Find me on Tumblr at crochetawayhpff. Enjoy!**

_blitz - a violent and sustained attack_

* * *

_September 1943_

_Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_Hogsmeade, Scotland_

* * *

Hermione couldn’t help but think that the Head Girl badge pinned to her uniform was ridiculous. She and Tom hadn’t even been prefects, and now they were Head Boy and Girl? Tom seemed to take it in stride as something he was due, which was also absurd.

“Fake it till you make it,” Tom had told her on the first day of term. It was something Hermione had been thinking about a lot. She had felt half-terrified ever since her confrontation with Grindelwald and decided that this was the year she was done being a victim.

She would always have an interest in potions, but it was clear that Slughorn wasn’t going to ever offer her an apprenticeship. She barely got an assistantship with him, and he had made it crystal clear that she wasn’t a priority. Hermione would always have her side interest in potions, which helped develop her way more than her assistantship ever did.

Besides, she knew that what she should work on was her weakest subject, not her strongest subject. With that in mind, Hermione approached Professor Merrythought at the beginning of the school year.

“I know you probably have already decided,” Hermione said with a smile after she’d stayed after class the first week of school.

“Decided on?” Professor Merrythought asked, cocking her steel-grey head to the side.

“On assistantships for this year and possible apprentices if anyone has applied for next year,” Hermione said. “But in case you haven’t, I’d like to throw my hat in the ring.”

“Aren’t you going to be one of Professor Slughorn’s assistants again this year?”

Hermione shook her head. “Professor Slughorn doesn’t believe in female Potioneers. He won’t give me an apprenticeship or help me find one. He has made that quite clear.”

Professor Merrythought scowled. “Sexist fool,” she muttered and Hermione hid her smirk behind her hand. “In that case, I will consider you. But tell me, why are you interested in Defense Against the Dark Arts?”

Hermione straightened her back and took a deep breath. “I’m sure you’ll recall what happened toward the end of my fifth year… I don’t want to be a victim anymore, and Defense is my weakest subject. I’d like to make it my strongest.”

Merrythought nodded thoughtfully and Hermione hoped it was enough to make her case. “I’ll let you know in October when we put out for assistantships.”

Hermione smiled gratefully and thanked her before leaving in a hurry. She hoped it was enough. It was obvious that potions wasn’t going to get her what she wanted out of life, and Merrythought was a witch too, she wouldn’t hold outdated ideas about what a witch was and wasn’t capable of. She wasn’t a fool though, the only way Merrythought would give her a chance to prove herself. Defense Against the Dark Arts just became Hermione’s priority.

* * *

“Aren’t you coming to bed?” Tom asked. It was only the third week of school, but Hermione found herself knee-deep in studying already. She was determined to prove herself to Merrythought, but that didn’t mean she could slack on any of her other classes. There were also the Head Girl duties to take care of, which cut into some of her precious potions research time. Another reason Hermione didn’t want to be Head Girl.

“I’m studying,” Hermione replied. “I’ll be up in a moment.”

Due to their appointments, Hermione and Tom shared a small common room that was located just off the main Gryffindor common room. Their private bedrooms were also off this common room. Which meant there was no social pressure to keep Hermione out of Tom’s bed at night. Frankly, it was a relief to have him next to her each night. Her nightmares were almost negligent when Tom was in bed next to her. The snogging was a side benefit.

“Hermione, you will wear yourself out by studying this much, this early,” Tom said as he sat down on the sofa next to her. He picked up one of the books she was referencing as she wrote her first Defense essay of the year.

“Defense?”

“I’ve asked Merrythought for an assistantship,” Hermione said absently. She scratched her chin and rewrote her last sentence before picking up a different book and rereading a passage.

“What? Why?”

Hermione sighed, setting down both her book and her essay and turned to Tom. “Did you think that Slughorn was going to offer me an apprenticeship? Or even help me find one? He’s a sexist fool who would rather see me in a pretty dress than working in his field.”

“So you plan to ignore your years of work in potions for Defense?” Tom asked.

“No, I plan to get an apprenticeship in Defense so I can stop being a victim. So you can stop acting like you have to take care of me and finally decide if you want to be with me because of me and not because I need protection all of the time. I’m going to put potions on a backburner for now and hope that I can come back to it in the future.”

“I…” Tom seemed at a loss for words and Hermione just stared at him waiting. When he didn’t say anything, she shook her head.

“Go to bed, Tom. I’ll be up in a while,” she said dismissing him. Tom huffed, but when he had nothing more to say, he slunk back to his room and Hermione wondered if she should forgo sleeping in his room this year. If he did decide he didn’t want her if she could protect herself, then maybe she should get used to sleeping on her own.

* * *

_October 1943_

_Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_Hogsmeade, Scotland_

* * *

Hermione did not go back to Tom’s bed that night over a month ago, and now it was Halloween and she was attending the Halloween Feast alone. Tom had done the aloof trick he was so good at during the school year and was mostly ignoring Hermione. She was fine with it this time around, she had plenty to focus on and while at first, she had hated being Head Girl, it was about the beginning of October when the first student came to her for help and Hermione found out she really liked helping other students. A lot of it was interpersonal conflict, which Hermione had a knack for giving advice, but some of it was school work and that was really where she thrived.

She had no idea what Tom did for his Head Boy hours, but he was never in their shared office on the third floor when she was. She really only saw him during classes and at meals. And even then, he often sat with Fleamont, François, and Ignatius. Hermione was honestly fine with it. She sat with Rubeus, who was a fifth year this year and Marjory, Rose, and Patricia who had all been friendlier especially after their betrothals became public. It seemed that as the year progressed more and more girls from her year got engaged and the happier everyone became.

Another reason she didn’t mind Tom’s indifference since September was that she had plenty to focus on to prepare for the end of the school year. She truly would have nowhere to go when Hogwarts ended in June, and if she didn’t accept an apprenticeship prior to then, she’d be homeless. Her hope was to get one with Merrythought, but while she did get her seventh-year assistantship, the student prior to Hermione decided not to continue because she received a betrothal contract, that didn’t mean that Merrythought would even take an apprentice next year. She didn’t have one this year, although Hermione didn’t know if that was because nobody had applied or because Merrythought decided against it.

Hermione was just about to enter the Great Hall when someone grabbed her arm above the elbow and held tight. He didn’t yank, which Hermione was thankful for, but when she turned, she saw it was Tom and he looked angry.

“Tom,” Hermione said calmly, turning fully to face him. “What can I do for you?”

“Start talking to me again,” Tom hissed, his face slipped into that perfect neutral mask that Hermione hated.

Hermione laughed. “Conversation is a two-way street, Tom. You could talk to _me_ for a change. In fact, if I recall, I offered you a deal back in September and instead of responding, _you_ decided to not talk to me.”

“A deal? That’s what you call it? Hermione! Don’t you get it?” Tom snapped.

Hermione glared at him. Clearly, she didn’t get it. She had no idea why he was this upset and frankly, his mercurial moods were starting to irritate her.

“Here’s what I do get, Tom,” Hermione began, but Tom cut her off.

“Let’s take this elsewhere,” he hissed as a group of fifth year Hufflepuffs passed by them, giving them a strange look.

“Fine,” Hermione snapped and stalked off toward their office. It was the closest place where they could have any sort of privacy.

“ _I_ can take care of myself,” Hermione said as soon as the door to their office closed after Tom. “I don’t need you to do that for me and I don’t _want_ you to do that for me. I don’t want to be some burden for you. Some _obligation_ that you have to take care of,” Hermione said with disgust. “I am a person, and you can’t get it through your head that I’m not a _possession_ that you need to take care of. I don’t want to be taken care of, Tom! I want to be a partner! To make decisions with you, but you don’t want that. You just want a pretty bobble to sit on a shelf.”

“You don’t understand,” Tom said again, stalking toward her. Hermione moved back and found her back against the wall. She sighed. Tom was going to attempt to kiss away their problems again and as much as she wanted him to kiss her, she wanted true answers to her concerns. “I want to protect you because you are the _only_ person who has been there for me. I want to protect you because I want you to always be by my side. I want you to be my anchor.”

“I’m already _on_ your side. What more do you need?” Hermione asked. Tom pressed his lips to hers and Hermione felt both elation and defeat ripple through her. It was frustrating and she channelled that frustration into the kiss. She carded her hand through Tom’s hair and yanked it back, pulling his head from hers. “I want an answer.”

Tom glared at her. He had a hand on either side of her waist and pushed her more firmly against the wall. Hermione could feel his length pressed against her. “You,” he murmured, his breath hot against the skin of her neck. His lips were hot as they trailed over her skin and Hermione’s breath hitched. “I want you. Any way I can have you,” Tom admitted and Hermione felt herself melt against him.

The snogging wasn’t new, they’d been doing it quite a bit earlier in the year, before Hermione stopped sleeping in Tom’s bed, but it was always tinged with an edge of excitement, almost dangerousness and Hermione felt as if her heart would beat out of her chest when his hands moved from their place at her waist. One slid up her torso and landed on her breast and Hermione arched her back, trying to get more of him. He’d never touched her like this before and she found she couldn’t get enough.

Hermione needed more, she moved her hands down his chest and began untucking his shirt from his trousers. Running her hands under his shirt, she breathed hard feeling his warm skin beneath her fingers. “Tom,” she whined as he broke the kiss and pulled his oxford shirt over his head. He tugged on Hermione’s jumper and she helped him take it off too. She was dressed only in her bra and she flicked the hooks at the back, taking that off as well.

“Fucking gorgeous,” Tom murmured staring at her. Hermione felt herself redden and wanted to cover her chest from his gaze, but instead, she pulled him to her, pressing her lips against his. Tom groaned and pushed them back away from the wall and manoeuvred them around the room until Hermione felt her bum pressed against the edge of the desk that sat at the center of the small space. Tom helped her sit on it, and then Tom laid her back, pressing his own chest against hers. Hermione’s legs fell open, cradling Tom’s hips, and she felt his length pressed against her core and writhed against him.

“Tom!” Hermione said again when his lips trailed a path down her neck toward her breasts. Hermione didn’t know what to do with her hands, but she couldn’t stop touching him. His skin was so smooth, so hard, so different from her own that she pressed her fingers everywhere she could reach. Tom rocked his hips into hers, and Hermione could feel a strange tension ratcheting up inside her as his lips found her nipple. Her back arched almost entirely off the desk when he began sucking.

She was overwhelmed with pleasure, with the feel of Tom against her, with the hand that was now slipping down the waistband of her skirt, past her tights, past her knickers and suddenly, it was there. At that spot that felt like heaven when Tom rubbed against it. His fingers delved into her folds and when one long finger slid _inside_ her, Hermione keened, her back arching once more. The things Tom was doing to her body was like heaven and any objection Hermione may have had when the started was quickly forgotten about.

“I… I’m going to…” Hermione trailed off, not sure what she was trying to say as her body wound tighter and tighter.

Tom groaned against her breast and released her nipple. He kissed between them before grasping the other nipple with his lips and sucking there.

“Tom!” she screamed as everything flew apart and the tension inside Hermione broke. The most amazing feeling she’d ever felt exploded from her center, warming her body entirely and causing her to shake beneath Tom’s hands.

Tom’s hips pumped against Hermione for a long moment before he groaned again, and panted heavily.

“Fuck,” he muttered, pressing his lips to hers once more, sliding his hand from beneath her skirt and holding her close.

“Godric,” Hermione said when he dropped his head to her shoulder. She had her arms wrapped around him, holding him to her.

“This is why you’re mine,” Tom said. “I don’t feel about _anyone_ the way I feel about you.”

Hermione sighed. Why couldn’t Tom see that this wasn’t what she wanted?

“I don’t belong to you,” Hermione whispered.

“How can I make you see that you do?” Tom asked, lifting his head and peering at her. His eyes were the deepest kind of blue and Hermione could find herself lost in them for days. “Should we get married? All of the other seventh years are getting engaged.”

Her heart thumped loudly in her chest at his words. “Is this a proposal?” Hermione asked, cocking her head to the side. “It doesn’t much feel like one. I can’t even tell if you like me when you barely seem to tolerate me most days.”

Tom’s entire body tensed and he moved off of her. Hermione slowly sat up and wished she had a shirt on, something to cover her nakedness as Tom fumed. When he spoke, his teeth were clenched. “When I see you, all I want to do is possess you. I want to bury my cock in that sweet cunt I just fingerfucked and never leave it. But that’s not what _you_ want, so I’m trying my best to respect _your_ wishes. If that comes across as cold or unfeeling, I assure you that isn’t my intention.”

Hermione’s mouth dropped open at his words. They shouldn’t have been as big of a turn-on as they were, but her skin broke out in gooseflesh and her nipples hardened. “Tom…” she began but didn’t know how to finish. They used to be so close, used to tell each other everything, but now he hides so much from her. “I didn’t know,” she said finally.

Tom turned back to her and his eyes were blazing as they raked over her half-naked form. “Now you do,” he said shortly. His breathing was heavy and his hands were clenched into fists at his side.

“Even now?” Hermione asked, her voice breathier than she intended, and she cleared her throat.

“All. Of. The. Time,” Tom said slowly, walking toward her and caging her in by placing a hand on either side of her on the desk. “Especially as you sit there topless and looking utterly debauched and I know that it was because of _me_ ,” Tom hissed against her face as Hermione tilted her head back. Then he kissed her again and Hermione forgot her objections. How could she have objections when he wanted her that much? She hated feeling like a possession, but she could see that Tom had been trying to cater to her. He’d been forcing his desires and needs down for her. She’d been so unsure of him for ages, and now, it all seemed to slide together, the pit in Hermione’s stomach that always seemed to be there was filled with Tom’s feelings for her. It all felt so right, for the first time.

“I promise to be better,” Tom whispered into her ear, still holding her to him. “I promise to do better. I promise to include you. I promise to be better for you.”

“Tom,” Hermione murmured, cupping his face. “I promise to be your anchor. I promise to always be there for you. I promise to live up to the ideals you hold for us. I prom—”

“No,” Tom shook his head. “Don’t live up to any ideals, just be you. Be unfailingly you and that will be enough.”

“Alright,” Hermione agreed, but silently to herself, she knew she had to do better too. It wasn’t just Tom who had been driving them apart, she had a part to play in that as well.

“I want to start an association,” Tom said then, pulling away from her. He pulled his wand out and with a flick they were both dressed. Hermione sighed when it seemed to mean there would be no more kissing, but she was also desperate to know what Tom had been plotting because Tom was always plotting something.

“What kind of association?” Hermione asked.

“I want to infiltrate the current wizarding world power structure and change it from within. That’s the ultimate goal, but we’ll never get there on our own. We need help, allies…”

“Slytherins?” Hermione asked with distaste.

Tom chuckled. “At first, yes, I thought we would need Slytherins, but if we think about Hogwarts as a subset of the population at large, Slytherins only make up a quarter of that population.”

“But there are more Slytherin purebloods than any other,” Hermione pointed out. “And purebloods rule this world.”

“Yes, but if you take the purebloods from the other three houses, there are more of them than there are Slytherin purebloods. And we wouldn’t cater to just the purebloods, but the half-bloods and Muggle-borns too.” Tom paced as he spoke, Hermione stayed where she was on the desk and chewed her thumbnail as she considered his points.

“I want to change the world,” Tom said. “But we have to start slow. This is going to take years and years.”

“What’s the first step?” Hermione asked.

“The association. Nothing changes without a movement. So let’s create a movement.”

“What would the goal of the association be?”

“Alliances,” Tom said swiftly. “We form an alliance, then use whatever sort of power we have within that alliance to advance our cause. At first, it’ll just be Hogwarts students, but in a few years, more and more of the initial students will be graduating. Those that are wizards and purebloods will get positions within the Ministry that we can then use to our advantage. As we grow—”

“We’ll attract more people to the movement. It could work, but we’ll have to be careful. The Wizengamot likely won’t want to change a system that has benefitted them for hundreds of years,” Hermione mused. She was excited by Tom’s idea. Especially, since she had been fighting against barriers placed against witches for years. Slughorn was a perfect example of it. A pureblood Slytherin, member of the Sacred Twenty-Eight who didn’t believe in women potioneers.

Tom turned to look at her and Hermione nodded. “Let’s do it. Let’s change the world.”

His shoulders relaxed and a beatific smile came over his face as he took the short two steps toward her and placed a kiss against her lips. “ _We’re_ going to change the fucking world.”

* * *

_December 1943_

_Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_Hogsmeade, Scotland_

* * *

After Halloween, Hermione found herself in Tom’s bed every night. They hadn’t gone much further than they did on Halloween, but Hermione was sleeping better. Which only made everything better, her studying had improved, her marks had improved. Professor Merrythought was especially impressed with her Defense Against the Dark Arts improvement and for the first time in seven years, Hermione earned better marks than Tom in that class.

“Winter holidays at last,” Tom said with a grin as they walked back to the castle from the train station in Hogsmeade.

Hermione smiled. There was something magical about Hogwarts when it was mostly empty of students.

“We’re having tea with Professor Dumbledore,” Tom told her as they entered the castle from the cold.

“Oh?”

“I’m hoping he’s willing to help sponsor the association,” Tom said. “Especially while we’re gone next year.”

“Where are we going next year?” Hermione asked.

“Grand tour,” Tom said absently. Hermione stopped in her tracks. She thought that she just heard Tom say they were going on a grand tour next year, but obviously, that couldn’t be the case. They had no money, no connections to do something like that.

Tom finally realized Hermione wasn’t walking beside him and turned around to see her still standing in the Entrance Hall.

“What?”

“With what money?” Hermione asked. “We can’t afford that, even if you hadn’t been spending the money you earned from your assistantship. And we have no contacts anywhere.”

Tom sighed and climbed down the few steps back to where she was standing. “I’ve gotten us a sponsor.”

“Not Dumbledore I hope,” Hermione said.

“No, Potter’s family is going to sponsor a grand tour.”

“Oh, for you, you mean. What am I going to be doing?”

“Stop being obtuse, Hermione,” Tom snapped. “The sponsorship includes you as well as my fiancée.”

“I’m you’re fiancée now? Funny, I don’t remember you asking,” Hermione said. She sounded more bitter than she felt. Inside, her heart soared at the idea of being Tom’s fiancée, of eventually, being Tom’s wife.

Tom groaned and ran a hand down his face.

“I’m teasing,” Hermione said after a long moment, taking some pity on him. “I’m glad I’m not to be excluded from the grand tour. There is _so_ much I want to learn.”

“Good, because it’s already settled,” Tom replied, grabbing her hand and pulling her down the corridor. “We leave three days after the school year ends. And we’re staying with Potter prior to leaving. He has it all arranged. Apparently, his mum is very excited to meet you.”

“Oh,” Hermione replied. Why in the world would Fleamont’s mum want to meet her? As excited as she was about the grand tour, the idea of touring Europe with just Fleamont and Tom did make her a little nervous. “Will anyone else be on tour with us?”

“Prewett and Delacour will both be there for at least portions of it. It’s mostly Potter and us though,” Tom said as he led her to Dumbledore’s office. Tom knocked but didn’t wait for an answer and let them inside.

“Tom! Miss Granger, how wonderful to see you both,” Dumbledore said. He was sitting behind his desk, writing something, but when he saw them, he put his quill down and capped his inkwell. “Please sit, I have tea coming shortly.”

Tom led Hermione over to the twin chairs that faced Dumbledore’s desk and sat. She still wasn’t quite sure what they were doing here in Dumbledore’s office. Usually, they avoided the professors as much as possible during the winter holidays.

A moment later, a tea service with little sandwiches appeared on Dumbledore’s desk. Indicating they should help themselves, Hermione poured herself a cup of tea. Clearly, Tom had something planned, she would just have to be patient for him to tell her what it was.

“I was hoping you could help us, sir,” Tom said after the three of them had their tea.

“I’d be happy too,” Dumbledore nodded. “With what do you need help?”

“We’ve talked about it before, but I want to change the wizarding world. I want to change how it’s structured and I want Hermione to feel like she has a true place here and not as some housewitch. I want to start an association or society of some sort,” Tom said.

Dumbledore nodded and gave a little wave, indicating he wanted Tom to go on. Hermione kept silent as she watched the two men.

“I was hoping it would be something you would help with, as a mentor of sorts. By its very nature, it has to start with young people, students, people fresh out of Hogwarts before they get into any sort of power structure within the Ministry. I want half-bloods and Muggle-borns to have the same opportunities as purebloods.”

“It’s a fine idea, Tom,” Dumbledore said. “But with the threat of Grindelwald…”

“This will take years of work,” Tom replied. “Hopefully, by the time we’re actually ready to do anything, Grindelwald won’t be a factor.”

“Unfortunately, there’s no guarantee on when Grindelwald won’t be a factor any longer,” Dumbledore said. He seemed a little sad to Hermione.

“I’m aware, sir,” Tom replied. “But that doesn’t mean we can’t start planning, does it? Besides, Grindelwald hasn’t threatened Britain yet.”

“I want to help, Tom, Miss Granger, I do. I’ll have to think about it though. There are many within the Ministry and outside of it who wouldn’t take to the idea of a group of young people intent on overthrowing them.”

“We wouldn’t be overthrowing anyone,” Hermione said. “This is a movement, not a revolution. All we want is a freer society. A society where it doesn’t matter if you’re born into a rich pureblood family or a poor half-blood family, or an oblivious Muggle family, you can still have the same opportunities. And, frankly sir, I’d like a world where my sex didn’t seem to matter so much as it does now. Potions is my passion, but Professor Slughorn refused to help find me an apprenticeship because I am a woman. That _has_ to change. How can we be considered a free and equal society and yet discount half the population because of their sex?”

Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully. “You are onto something there, Miss Granger. I will agree to help where I can. What do you plan to do first to form this society?”

“Recruit members, of course,” Tom said with a grin. “I already have several people in mind and I’m hoping you can be our eyes and ears here are Hogwarts in the future. We’re also going on tour next year or so. We’ll need someone here in Britain recruiting members. I’m hoping when we return we can begin the real work.”

Dumbledore nodded slowly. “We’ll need a meeting place, but I think I know of something that will work for the time being. What are your plans after your grand tour?”

Tom shrugged. “I’m not certain, we’ll have to see what opportunity opens up for us. I’d consider an apprenticeship somewhere.”

“Perhaps in Transfiguration?” Dumbledore asked. He sounded hopeful and Hermione was a little surprised that Tom and Dumbledore didn’t seem to have spoken of it before.

“Perhaps,” Tom said cooly. Judging by the slight upturns on both Dumbledore’s and Tom’s faces, Hermione assumed this was just how they spoke with each other. She disliked the complicated nature and wished they would speak plainly.

“I think we should try to make this society, this association as invisible as possible. No hierarchy, no parchment work, nothing,” Hermione said. “The less that’s known about it, beyond the key figures, the safer we’ll be from reprisals from either the Ministry, Wizengamot, or both. Almost, like the Free Masons in the Muggle world, perhaps.”

Tom gave her a speculative look while Dumbledore nodded thoughtfully.

“Why?” Tom asked.

Hermione shrugged. “It seems safer that way. We have a central theme, an idea that we want to get across to the rest of society, which we think that most of society wants anyway, if we make it a big deal, then it’s a big deal for everyone. This is just a group of people who are looking to advance within our society.”

“How secretive do you want it to be?” Dumbledore asked.

“I’m not sure, but I do think we need to be very careful right now. With you’re backing, we can probably recruit more people, but at the very start is when we need to be most careful that the wrong people don’t hear of what we’re doing,” Hermione said. “We can always adjust as we go.”

“That seems wise,” Dumbledore said. “What of you, Miss Granger? What are your plans after the tour?”

“I’m going to ask Professor Merrythought for an apprenticeship,” Hermione said. “Even if Tom doesn’t plan to apprentice with you, one of us should be at Hogwarts for a few years. We’ll be able to get a firm hold here, then we can branch out more to the Ministry, to Gringotts, to some of the biggest corporations in the British wizarding world. I hope in forty or fifty years we’ll have even branched beyond Britain.”

“That’s more ambition than I would have given you credit for,” Dumbledore said, eyeing Tom.

“That’s all her,” Tom replied, a self-satisfied smirk on his face. “Hermione doesn’t do anything by halves.”

* * *

_December 1943_

_Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_Hogsmeade, Scotland_

* * *

Tom spent most of his birthday finishing up a few last-minute homework assignments. The new term began on Monday and he wanted the weekend free to spend with Hermione. Having sequestered himself in the library most of the day, he was tired and dragging by the time he returned to the Gryffindor common room. The main common room was dark, as they were the only Gryffindor’s staying that year. One lone candle sat near the portrait hole to light the way to the side door that hid the head common room he shared with Hermione.

Opening the side door, Tom was surprised to see an almost entirely different room.

“Surprise,” Hermione said. She was standing near the fireplace dressed in an evening gown that Tom knew she didn’t own. It was navy blue with subtle sequins and she looked gorgeous. Tom dropped his school bag right next to the door and strode over to her.

“What’s all this for?” Tom asked, taking her in his arms.

“Happy Birthday, love,” Hermione smiled softly up at him and he leaned down, brushing his lips against hers. He was hard instantly. He wanted her desperately, but he pulled back, not wanting to ruin her plans.

“Dinner should be up shortly,” Hermione said. She flicked her wand and a gramophone Tom hadn’t noticed earlier began to play a soft big band piece. “Shall we dance?”

“I’d be delighted.” Tom held out his arm for her and led her to the space where the sofa and coffee table usually sat but had been replaced by a wood floor for the evening. He twirled Hermione around and pulled her close as they swayed softly. The candlelight was perfect, and Tom couldn’t stop looking at how beautiful Hermione was.

“You didn’t have to go through all of this,” Tom said.

“I know, but I wanted to. I’m trying to make an effort, Tom. I want you to know how much I want to be with you.” Tom felt his heart leap at her words and carefully suppressed any emotions from showing on his face.

Hermione scowled. “I hate that.”

“What?” Tom asked.

“That face you make when you’re trying not to show your emotions. I hate it. You look so blank, like a mannequin. I _want_ to see your emotions. I _want_ to know how you are feeling.” She stopped dancing and pulled out of his arms.

Tom felt his face soften at her obvious distress and pulled her closer to him. “I’ll try not to do it with you, but it’s hard. I…”

“I know,” Hermione assured him. “Just try, for me?”

“Of course,” Tom replied and Hermione stepped even closer, allowing their dancing to continue and laying her head on Tom’s shoulder. Tom wasn’t sure he’d ever felt so content.

A moment later, there was a small pop and a table set for two appeared near the fireplace, laden heavy with platters.

“Let’s eat,” Tom suggested.

Dinner included all of Tom’s favorites and it wasn’t long before the food was gone.

“Shall we dance some more?” Tom asked.

Hermione smiled, nodding and Tom helped her out of her chair and back to the makeshift dance floor.

“Thank you,” Tom murmured into her hair. “This is definitely the best birthday I’ve ever had.”

“Good,” Hermione replied. “We’re only allowed to have good birthdays from now on.”

“Sounds good to me.”

He spun her around then, and led her down in a dip, placing his leg firmly between hers to support her. When he brought her back up her pupils were dilated and she was breathing heavily. She looked so delectable that Tom kissed her. The kissing turned frantic and a few moments later all pretense of dancing was forgotten as Hermione began pulling him out of his school uniform.

Within moments, she had him topless and was working on his belt. Tom groaned as she dropped to her knees and pulled his hard cock out of his trousers.

“Hermione,” he murmured as she stroked him with her hand. She looked fucking amazing on her knees before him and a wave of lust and power washed over him at the sight.

“Tom,” Hermione replied, arching one eyebrow.

Tom wasn’t sure if it was on purpose or not, but his hips swayed forward, the head of his cock brushing against her lips. She pressed a kiss there and her breath was so warm against him. When she slowly engulfed his head into her mouth he felt as if he’d died and gone to heaven. Nothing felt as good as having Hermione’s mouth wrapped around him. He’d never grow sick of it, he was sure.

Slowly, she fed the rest of his cock into her mouth and then she swallowed and hollowed her cheeks. Tom panted, clenching his fists at his sides to keep from grabbing her head and fucking her mouth the way he wanted to.

Hermione ran a hand up his leg and behind him, clenching his bum and making Tom jump. Instinctively, he reached forward and found her head. He cradled it in both hands as she continued to suck on his cock.

“Fuck, I’m coming,” Tom murmured, trying to pull away. Hermione grabbed his bum with both hands, holding him inside her mouth as he began to spurt his seed. She swallowed after each spurt and Tom groaned at the feeling of her mouth contracting around him. When he was done, she licked him clean and sat back.

“Get up here,” Tom growled, pulling her up and pressing a desperate kiss to her lips. She’d never swallowed before and Tom was more turned on than he’d ever been in his life at the idea of his seed inside of her. He backed her into the nearest wall, his mouth still plundering hers in an imitation of what he wanted to do with his cock.

He trailed his lips down from her mouth, along her jaw, until he reached her ear and bit her earlobe.

“I want to fuck you. I want to make you mine, permanently,” he whispered hotly. Hermione shivered against him.

“Yes, please Tom. I’m aching…” she replied her hands clasped against his bare shoulders.

Tom groaned and ground his rapidly hardening cock against her center. Her dress was in the way and with a silent incantation, it slithered off of her body and onto the floor.

“Take me to bed, Tom,” Hermione pleaded.

Tom didn’t have to be asked twice, he grasped her hand and pulled her behind him as he made his way to their shared room. On the way, he lost his trousers and pants entirely, along with his shoes and socks. By the time he had Hermione standing in front of their bed, she was entirely naked.

“You are so beautiful, love,” Tom murmured, running his hands everywhere he could reach. Hermione fell back onto the bed and scrambled to put her head on the pillows as Tom clambered over her.

“I’ve never done this,” Hermione whispered shyly once faced with Tom’s entirely naked body.

“Me neither,” Tom admitted. “We’ll learn together.”

Hermione smiled and Tom leaned in, placing a kiss on her lips, her body was stiff beneath his. Tom knew enough that she would enjoy it if she relaxed so he set about making that happen. Her kisses were practically drugging and it wasn’t long before Tom knew he was going to explode if he didn’t do something different.

He kissed along her neck, dropping his head toward her breasts, licking and sucking her nipples. She arched beneath him and dug her nails into his shoulders. As Tom made his way down to the crux of her thighs, Hermione tensed again.

“Tom,” she pulled at his shoulders.

“If you hate it, I’ll stop,” Tom told her, catching her eyes as his mouth hovered over her mound. “But I think you should let me try.”

Hermione bit her lip then nodded, squeezing her eyes shut. Tom spent a moment just breathing in her musky scent. If he thought this was going to cool his ardor, he was wrong. She smelled like heaven. He kissed first one thigh, then the other before placing a soft, closed-mouth kiss over her slit. Hermione sighed and her thighs relaxed a little. Tom took that to be a good thing and began exploring her more fully with his mouth. When his tongue found her clit, she jumped.

“Oh, Tom. Do that again,” she bid, winding one hand through his hair and holding him to her. Tom’s lips twitched and he set to work, tonguing her clit in a variety of designs, trying to find the one she liked best. Then he sucked her clit into his mouth and her entire back arched off the bed and she screamed. Tom clamped an arm around each thigh to keep her still as he nursed her through her climax.

“You can do that as often as you want,” Hermione said languidly when she’d recovered.

Tom laughed quietly and licked her again. Hermione whined, trying to push him away, but Tom gripped her hand in one of his, holding it off to the side as he slid his index finger from her other hand inside her.

“Oh, God,” Hermione cried out, bucking again. Tom bit his lip, trying to recite Transfiguration spells in his head to keep from coming right then. He was so turned on, his cock was practically aching. “Tom, please I need you.”

“I don’t know if I can make it good for you,” Tom said as he moved back over her. Her legs fell apart, cradling him within and his cock brushed against her mound. They both groaned.

“I don’t care,” Hermione said. “Please!”

Tom nodded and gripped his cock in his hand, willing himself not to spill his load within moments as he guided himself inside. He had barely got the head inside when Hermione tensed, squeezing around him.

“Merlin, you have to relax,” Tom pleaded.

“Right, okay,” Hermione nodded, taking a deep breath and her walls softened around him. Tom slid further inside and groaned.

“Are you alright?” Hermione asked, her brows knitted with worry.

“You have no idea how good this feels,” Tom murmured against her shoulder. “I feel totally wrapped up in you, like coming home and Merlin, I just want to fuck you until I come, but I’m trying not to. I’m trying to hold back to make it good for you. To not lose control.”

“I think maybe I’d like to see you lose control,” Hermione admitted, placing a kiss against Tom’s neck.

Tom groaned and bit her shoulder, hard. Hermione cried out and Tom surged the rest of the way forward.

“Oh, Godric, Tom!” Hermione said.

“Good?” Tom asked.

“So good, do it again.”

Tom bit his lips and set a slow pace, Hermione caught on and began lifting her hips in time with his. She wrapped her legs around him and Tom’s pace increased.

“Tom!” Hermione cried out as her walls fluttered around him and Tom was shocked for a brief moment before his own climax tore through him and he grunted into Hermione’s hair.

They both collapsed back onto the bed, breathing heavily.

“That was…”

“Rather good for our first time,” Tom finished for her, rolling off of her.

“Yeah,” Hermione said, smiling at him. She turned on her side and cuddled him close. Tom couldn’t stop the happy smile from crossing his face as he pulled the covers up and threw his arm around her shoulders.

* * *

_March 1944_

_Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_Hogsmeade, Scotland_

* * *

“What is this?” Tom turned to Dumbledore, holding up a long oblong-shaped object. It was made of metal, silver on the outside like a small cage. Inside was a blood-red stone.

“Ah, that is my latest project,” Dumbledore said, coming closer to Tom and plucking the object out of Tom’s hands. “A foolish endeavor from my youth that haunts me still.”

“What is it?” Tom asked again. Dumbledore was cagey with the truth sometimes, but Tom had learned to be persistent.

“It’s a blood pact,” Dumbledore said simply without explaining anything.

“And what is a blood pact? What do they do? How are they made?” Tom always wanted to know everything about anything new he learned. He also wanted to know who Dumbledore made the blood pact with, but he would have to wait for that question.

“It’s a type of promise. Kind of like a wizarding oath. Except without the killing part. However once made, a blood pact cannot be destroyed.” Dumbledore sat heavily behind his desk fingering the blood pact.

“Is that what you’re trying to do with it? Destroy it?” Tom took a seat across from him, having a feeling that this was going to turn into a deeper discussion. He hoped so anyway.

“Yes. As I said, a youthful indiscretion. One that’s proving troublesome now.”

“Why? Who did you make the pact with?”

“Grindelwald.”

“So it’s true, you’re the only one who can beat him.” Tom was flabbergasted but felt like he had to say something.

“I don’t know about that, but I certainly can’t beat him with this blood pact unbroken.”

“And you said they can’t be broken. What have you tried?” Tom leaned forward, looking at it again. It looked like nothing more than a bit of jewelry.

“Oh, the usual methods,” Dumbledore replied. “Bombarda, Reducto, et cetera.”

“What about something corrosive? Like Basilisk venom? Or Fiendfyre?” Tom suggested.

Dumbledore’s eyes twinkled at Tom and a slow smile spread across his face. “You might just have something there, young Tom. I shall have to give one of those a try.”

“May I be there when you do?” Tom asked.

“I’ll think upon it,” Dumbledore responded before shooing Tom out of his office and to dinner.

Tom thought over the discussion as he made his way to the Great Hall. It was interesting that Dumbledore and Grindelwald knew each other in their youth. He wondered how close they were and what caused them to have a falling out.

* * *

_May 1944_

_Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_Hogsmeade, Scotland_

* * *

“Come on,” Tom muttered to Hermione, holding her hand and rushing after Dumbledore. “I placed a tracking spell.”

“What are we doing?” Hermione panted.

“Following Dumbledore. I don’t know where exactly, but he’s going to defeat Grindelwald tonight.”

“How do you know?”

“Never mind that,” Tom said as they made it out of the gates. Dumbledore had vanished from that exact spot less than a minute ago. Tom pulled out his wand and made a complicated motion while muttering under his breath and pulling Hermione into his shoulder. “Hold on.”

A moment later and they Apparated away. It was a very long Apparition and by the time they landed, both Tom and Hermione fell to their knees gasping for breath.

“What are you two doing here?” Dumbledore roared, whirling on them. They appeared to be in a great amphitheater, although it was empty, Dumbledore’s voice echoed loudly around them.

“Didn’t want to miss the show,” Tom said, with a small smile. Dumbledore liked him when he was cheeky, he just hoped that was still the case when Dumbledore was as angry as he was then.

“Get out of here! I can’t have you about!” Dumbledore shouted. Just then another man appeared. He was almost entirely white, his hair, his skin, even his robes were white.

“Ah, Albus, what do I owe the pleasure. And you brought company. How kind of you,” the other man said in perfectly posh English. For some reason, Tom had always imagined Grindelwald to have an accent. Grindelwald flicked his wand and ropes shot out of it. Tom shoved Hermione to the side, but he wasn’t quick enough as the ropes wrapped around the two of them, forcing them back-to-back.

“Wouldn’t want your _students_ to get in the way, now would we?” Grindelwald asked snidely as he dropped Tom and Hermione off the stage of the amphitheater. “Why you even brought them is a mystery to me, Albie.”

“You know why I’m here,” Dumbledore said, ignoring Grindelwald’s taunts. “Let’s just get this over with.”

“There will be no ‘getting this over with’, Albie. I have the unbeatable wand.”

Hermione hissed at that information, but Tom was too busy working through the ropes. The thing that most wizards forgot, was even with ropes, they could be removed by Muggle means. Tom had a pocket knife, given to him by Potter some years ago, he just had to get it out of his pocket and into his hand.

He shifted his hips slightly, aiming his right pocket toward Hermione’s hand. “Grab the knife,” he muttered quietly. Dumbledore and Grindelwald were still talking on the stage, bickering it sounded like. Hermione barely got her fingers into his pocket and Tom felt her inch the knife out. She flicked it open and began hacking at the bonds she could reach. After a moment, they loosened.

“Where did you get _that_?” Grindelwald asked, dragging Tom’s focus back to what was happening on stage.

“Been looking for it, have you?” Dumbledore asked. Tom risked a look to see the blood pact, still in Dumbledore’s hands.

“It’s been my protection all these years, Albie. Of course, I’ve been looking for it. Who did you have steal it?”

“It doesn’t matter now,” Dumbledore said. He tossed the blood pact into the air and swung his arm in a huge circle, bringing his arm up through the center of the circle and flicking it. A jet of fire shaped like a phoenix shot out of the end of his wand and engulfed the blood pact before it could hit the ground.

“NO!” Grindelwald shouted, reaching forward, but Dumbledore kept the fire steady.

It felt like nobody breathed for a very long moment before an ear-shattering screech was heard. Tom and Hermione both clamped their hands over their ears, trying to keep the sound from bursting their eardrums.

When it was over, the blood pact lay shattered on the stage between two very old looking men.

“What have you done?” Grindelwald asked, his wand pointed at Dumbledore’s heart.

“What I had to do to stop you. Same as always,” Dumbledore said. His voice was hoarse and he looked like he gained at least sixty years in the blink of an eye.

“Look at you! Look at us!” Grindelwald shouted, holding up his liver-spotted and wrinkled hand. “We’re old! We were never supposed to get old!”

“Everyone gets old, Gellert. Everyone dies,” Dumbledore said. He sounded too fatigued to even respond, but when Grindelwald sent a whip made of fire at him, he hopped to the side. Tom ducked, pulling Hermione down with him as the whip lashed out over their heads.

“It doesn’t matter!” Grindelwald shouted. “I have the unbeatable wand! The Elder Wand! You won’t defeat me.”

Dumbledore said nothing, just retaliated with his own spell, forcing Grindelwald almost over the edge of the stage. Tom grabbed Hermione’s hand and pulled her around so that they were more off to the side, and not behind Dumbledore. He didn’t want either one of them getting caught in the spell-fire.

“Should we help him?” Hermione asked. Spell-fire and actual fire flashed back and forth across the stage as the two battled.

“No,” Tom shook his head. “No, I don’t think either one of them would appreciate that.”

“What if Dumbledore loses? And what’s a blood pact? Why did they both get so old looking?”

Tom shook his head. “I didn’t know the cost of destroying the blood pact. I don’t know if Dumbledore knew it.” Then he went on to explain what he knew about blood pacts.

As the combatants moved, so did Tom and Hermione. Never staying in one place long, almost mirroring their movements, trying to stay out of the way.

“Why are we here if we aren’t going to help?” Hermione asked as Dumbledore stumbled, looking battered and beaten. Tom caught Dumbledore’s eye and realized that Dumbledore wasn’t going to win without their help.

“Send a Knockback Jinx at Grindelwald,” Tom told Hermione. She whirled on the spot and cast a discrete jinx, but Grindelwald was ready for it and blocked it.

“Having your ickle students help now, Albie?!” Grindelwald roared. He whipped his wand above his head, creating a wall of fire around the stage between Tom and Hermione and the stage.

“Fuck,” Tom muttered and began attempting to break down the wall of fire.

“What are you doing?” Hermione asked.

“I need to break through the fire. Dumbledore isn’t going to win without our help.”

“Finally,” Hermione whispered. “Let me.” She took her wand to the fire and within moments it disappeared. “Now!” she shouted.

Tom sent everything he could think of at Grindelwald at the same time that Dumbledore pressed his advantage. Between the three of them, something worked, although Tom wasn’t sure what it was until Grindelwald’s wand flew from his hand and landed in Hermione’s. Dumbledore was quick to tie Grindelwald up and incapacitate him.

“Aren’t you going to kill him?” Tom asked after the battle was over and Dumbledore was planning to contact the French authorities.

Dumbledore looked at Tom, startled. “No. That’s what Grindelwald would have done, you can be sure. We must strive to be above those who would act on their basest instincts, Tom.”

Tom nodded but privately thought that leaving Grindelwald alive was a mistake.

“Who ended up with his wand?” Dumbledore asked.

“Here it is,” Hermione said, offering it to Dumbledore, and climbing the stage for the first time. Tom followed her up.

“Oh, no. You won that fair and square,” Dumbledore said. “That wand doesn’t just work for anyone. It will only work if you’ve won its allegiance.”

“How did I do that?” Hermione asked, looking at the wand in her hands. It was a much lighter colour than her original wand.

“Expelliarmus is the usual way,” Dumbledore said, his eyes twinkling. “We’ll have to discuss it more in-depth when we return to England. For now, tuck it away from the French Aurors.”

As he said the word, the sounds of Apparition were heard and half a dozen men showed up speaking rapidly in French.

* * *

_July 1944_

_Hogwarts School for Witchcraft and Wizardry_

_Hogsmeade, Scotland_

* * *

“We’re calling it what?” Hermione asked a day before they were leaving for their grand tour and they were meeting with Dumbledore one final time. Tom wanted to be sure that Merlin’s Order didn’t suffer while he and Hermione were gone. They’d planned to be gone for close to two years. Which would hopefully be enough time to come back to Hogwarts and take up an apprenticeship with eyes on teaching at the school after the three years of apprenticeship were over.

“Merlin’s Order,” Tom repeated. “Professor Dumbledore—”

“Albus, now,” Dumbledore interrupted to say. His eyes twinkling as they always seemed to these days. He still looked as though he were in his hundreds when he was only in his sixties. The effects of breaking the blood pact were permanent it seemed.

“Albus, then,” Tom replied, still unused to saying his first name. “Albus and I decided that we needed a higher-order if we’re going to attempt to be invisible. Studying Merlin’s writings is not only something we should do, but it gives people a guiding star.”

“Like a religion,” Hermione said nodding. “I see, we can use Merlin like the Muggle Jesus. There are quite a few fanatical religious groups who follow Jesus. We can be similar. Then with a structure that’s invisible, and yet everywhere at once, it provides protection.”

“Exactly so,” Dumbledore murmured. “Well, I will certainly keep up with recruitment efforts here and monthly meetings. When you return to Britain, we can figure out where we go from here.”

“We’ll see you in a few years then,” Tom said. He stood and shook Dumbledore’s hand. Hermione surprised him by pulling Dumbledore in for a hug. Tom felt light, lighter than he had in years as he and Hermione left Hogwarts, off to start their new adventure.


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **A/N: A million thanks to infallible angel and her excellent alpha/beta skills.**
> 
> **This is it folks! Final chapter of this story. Hope you enjoyed your journey!**
> 
> **If you love this (or hate it) please let me know about in a review! Find me on Tumblr at crochetawayhpff. Enjoy!**

_blitz - a fast intensive nonmilitary campaign or attack_

* * *

_January 1947_

_Diagon Alley_

_London, England_

* * *

Tom spent the day after his twentieth birthday moving. After almost three years touring Europe, he and Hermione had both accumulated quite a bit. Hermione had devised a small bag for each of them that was layered with Undetectable Extension Charms and Lightweight Charms. As they settled into the flat that Potter's parents had found for them in Diagon Alley, Tom kept pulling more and more items from his bag.

"How did I end up with this much rubbish?" Tom groused as he pulled out his fifth set of black-tie robes.

"Three years on the road will do that to you," Potter said. He was busy organizing the books Tom had pulled out. "Merlin, did you buy every book in Europe?"

"I didn't," Tom said. "But it's possible Hermione did. She charmed an entire bag just to hold books, did you know that?"

"It certainly doesn't surprise me," Potter muttered.

"Books are very important," Hermione called from the kitchen where she was organizing tea for the three of them. "How else would I learn everything about everything without them?"

"It is why we spent four months in Paris alone," Tom said under his breath to Potter. Potter snickered.

"Oh, hush, you," Hermione admonished lightheartedly. "You act as if you didn't want to spend three months at the _Les Archives Sorcières_."

Tom smirked at her, bussing her cheek with his lips as she set the tray of tea things down onto their small kitchen table.

"Honestly, you both are moving in six months, why bother unpacking at all?" Potter asked, waving his wand and shelving a row of books.

"We're not heathens, whatever you may think Monty," Hermione replied. "Now take a break for some tea. We're due to meet with Dumbledore and the Order this afternoon. We'll need to be our best."

"Merlin's Order, I almost can't wait to see who old Dumbledore has recruited," Potter said, sitting next to Hermione and poured himself a cup of tea.

Tom took the last seat at the table and thanked Hermione absentmindedly when she fixed his tea just as he liked it.

* * *

_March 1947_

_The Hog's Head_

_Hogsmeade, Scotland_

* * *

"Tom Riddle and Hermione Granger, yes! They are the ones who started the whole thing."

"I thought it was Professor Dumbledore."

"No! He was just taking it on while they were on their grand tour."

"So romantic, travelling in Europe for three whole years!"

Tom rolled his eyes at the gossip he could hear from the stairs of the old pub. After their first meeting in January, the membership of the society had exploded and the Hog's Head was now quite packed, waiting for Tom and Hermione to descend and begin the meeting. Dumbledore was in the crowd somewhere, schmoozing newcomers, no doubt. Dumbledore had taken to recruiting for the Order like a niffler to gold.

"Tom!" Professor Slughorn shouted over the crowd and moved his large body through the people to greet Tom. Tom descended the stairs since most of the crowd had turned at Slughorn's cry. Hermione was just behind him.

"Hermione!" Slughorn shouted as he got closer to the pair. "What a delight to see you both. This is a good turnout, eh? I invited a few people myself after I overheard Dumbledore talking to the Undersecretary at one of my little gatherings last month."

"It's good to see you, Professor," Hermione said, smiling blandly. Tom knew that Hermione still resented Slughorn and his sexism. Slughorn nodded at her before turning back to Tom, ignoring Hermione. She squeezed Tom's hand and started off toward the makeshift stage to the left side of the bar. His eyes followed her as Slughorn chattered his ear off about all of the Ministry connections he had brought to the Order.

Slughorn's connections couldn't be discounted, but Tom was only half-listening to the old windbag as he surveyed the crowd. It was a good mix, mostly young people, but there were a few people still in their Ministry department robes.

"Excuse me," Tom said to Slughorn, offering the man a small smile. "It appears we're ready to get started."

He joined Hermione on the small stage, after making his way through the crowd. She smiled at him and held open a book of Merlin's writings.

"Thank you all for coming to our little gathering. We'll begin today by reading a small passage of Merlin's writings to remember why we are here," Tom began. He looked down at the passage Hermione had marked.

" _Merlin, you grieved at that sight, and your sad lament was heard throughout the army, as you lifted up your voice in these words:_

_"Surely a malignant fate cannot have been so vindictive as to take from me all these my companions, men such that many a king and many a distant kingdom have stood in fear of them till now?_

_"O man's uncertain fate, death ever near, ever with power to strike him with its hidden lance and drive the poor life from his body!_

_"O glory of youth, who will now stand by my side in battle to turn back the princes who coixie to do me ill and their hordes that press upon me?_

_"Brave youths, your very bravery has taken from you your sweet years, your sweet youth itself. A moment back, and you were tearing through the formations in battle array, striking down all opposition. Now you lie heavy on the earth, red with fresh blood.'_

_So with fast-running tears, he mourned amid the strife and wept for his heroes. The terrible fighting ceased not, the lines of battle clashed, foe fell to foe. Blood flowed on every side, and the people of both nations died."_

Tom stopped speaking and bowed his head reverently. The writings of Merlin didn't matter, he didn't care or believe, but they served an important purpose to bring people together. To remind them what they were fighting against and to unite them against the current political structure.

"Is this treasonous?" someone from the back of the crowd asked just as Tom was getting ready to conclude the meeting.

"Merlin, no!" Tom responded swiftly before more murmuring could occur. "Who asked that? Please come forward."

A young man, in his Hogwarts robes, stepped forward. The Slytherin house seal was on his shoulder.

"This is just a group who study Merlin's teachings and use those teachings to better the world," Tom said.

"But you want to overturn most of the members of the Wizengamot," the boy said. "Wouldn't they consider this treason?"

"Perhaps," Hermione said. "But what has the Wizengamot done for you? We aim to be of the people, for the people, not ruled by those with the most money, the most history."

"Like the Muggle Americans," the boy muttered.

"Taking Muggle Studies, are you?" Tom smirked. "Good for you. Yes, like the Muggle Americans, but hopefully with less corruption and less institutional discrimination. We truly believe that all witches and wizards are born equal, regardless of the circumstances of that birth, be it pure-blood or Muggleborn. It's why you see so many pure-bloods and Muggleborns here. The current system doesn't benefit any but those who are the most wealthy. We want to change that."

The boy nodded, looking contemplative.

"If you'd like to talk further, Tom and I will be here for a few more hours," Hermione said kindly. She stepped off the stage and offered him her hand. He took it and she led them to the side, speaking with the boy in a low voice. Tom appreciated that Hermione had the political capital to smooth the ruffled scales of the Slytherins. As a Slytherin, that boy was most likely pureblood and they could use all of the pureblooded Slytherins as they could get.

* * *

_May 1947_

_Diagon Alley_

_London, England_

* * *

"I know I agreed already, Tom," Hermione said, the irritation was heavy in her voice as she lowered the letter to the table. "But I don't want to be siloed away up in Scotland when our work is _here_."

"We won't get anywhere without a proper apprenticeship," Tom replied. "We can't even get hired at the Ministry right now, due to our blood status. I'm sorry that Slughorn turned down your request for a Potions apprenticeship. Perhaps we can find someone else after you complete your Defense one."

"And spend even more time on education when I could be helping you? No. The whole point was to do my Defense and Potions apprenticeships at the same time." Hermione shook her head and Tom's heart twinged for her.

"Dumbledore's the one who found the twelve uses for Dragon's blood, I know he's not a Potions Master, but perhaps he could supervise your Potions Apprenticeship and you can take the exam anyway."

"The exam is no good without having the approval of a Potions Master, you know that," Hermione said bitterly. "I wish Dippet would fire Slughorn entirely and hire someone new. Someone who wasn't a sexist arse."

"That…" Tom trailed off thinking for a moment, "that's not a bad idea."

"Tom. We're not actually going to get Slughorn fired."

"Why not? It would solve your problems. We can even offer to help bring someone in. What about Andrea Forlanini from _Scuola di Magia di Santo Spirito_. Wasn't she telling you she wanted to work on her English and move to Britain."

"Well yes, but you remember how terrible her English was. She could barely be understood."

"All the more reason she'll need a good English apprentice then," Tom said with a smirk.

"Fine, I'll owl her, if you work on Dippet."

"Consider it done," Tom said. Then he pulled her into a hug and pressed a kiss to her nose. "I'd do anything for you."

* * *

_July 1947_

_Hectare Cottage_

_Hogsmeade, Scotland_

* * *

"Frankly, Mum's just happy it won't be sitting empty," Fleamont said, opening a box and helping Hermione and Tom unpack their books again. "Although why I have to help twice in one year…"

"Oh, hush, Monty. You love helping," Hermione teased. "Besides, what else would you be doing? Working with your father? You hate Potions."

"True, too bad he doesn't have a Charms division."

"Why don't you start one?" Tom asked as he slipped down the stairs to grab another box for their bedroom. Hermione eyed him appreciatively, he was in a t-shirt, not attire he wore often, and Hermione liked the view.

"Merlin, stop ogling him," Fleamont complained, making a choking sound.

"Hush you," Hermione murmured as Tom wrapped his arms around her and placed a soft kiss against the side of her head. She hummed happily in his arms. She was so happy that Tom agreed to live in Hogsmeade for the three years of their apprenticeships. Being in the castle again was not something Hermione wanted to do. Mostly, because it meant that she and Tom would have separate quarters in their respective professor's quarters. Merrythought was a fine woman, but Hermione didn't think she'd allow Tom to sleep with Hermione.

"When does Professor Forlanini arrive?" Fleamont asked, changing the subject. "I quite fancy taking her out for a butterbeer."

"She's at least a decade older than you," Tom replied, although he was smirking.

"I like a mature witch," Fleamont said cheekily.

"And a Potions Mistress wouldn't be amiss for your parents," Hermione suggested, offering Fleamont a wink. He laughed heartily agreeing with her assessment.

* * *

_December 1947_

_Potter Manor_

_Shropshire, England_

* * *

Hermione hummed happily as Tom swept her across the dance floor at the Potter's annual New Year's Eve ball. This was the first ball they had been able to attend, despite having been invited every year they were in Europe.

"Happy Birthday," Hermione said to Tom for probably the fifteenth time that night. She squeezed his hand and smiled up at him.

"Mmm, it has been a good birthday," Tom murmured to her, dropping his face so he was whispering directly into her ear. "Especially for what I have planned later."

"I thought I was the one who was supposed to plan things for your birthday?" Hermione whispered back.

Tom's chuckle was low and sent a wave of lust and desire through Hermione as his warm breath washed over her ear.

It was a few hours later when Tom's surprise was revealed. The countdown for the New Year had taken place just moments before when Tom whisked her off to a heated balcony just outside of the ballroom.

"What are we doing out here?" Hermione asked, noticing that the balcony was suspiciously empty, and dark.

Tom stood before her, grasping both hands and slowly got to one knee. Hermione wanted to glare at him, but her heart felt so full that she found herself beaming at him instead.

"You know I would do anything for you," Tom began. "I want to continue doing anything for you, for as long as we both live. You've been by my side for a decade and I want you next to me for at least the next eighty decades."

Hermione bit her lip, knowing what was coming and unable to stop the feelings of love that threatened to pour out of her.

Tom's smile turned into a grin. "Will you marry me, Hermione Granger? To be my partner, at my side for the rest of our lives?"

The moment the words were out of his mouth, the balcony lit up and Hermione was surprised to see their friends standing along the wall, all waiting with bated breath for her answer. She truly tried to frown then as she disliked making a scene, but a sob escaped her mouth instead and she nodded.

"Yes," she whispered.

Tom whooped and stood, wrapping his arms around her and swinging her around in a circle.

"You are in so much trouble," Hermione whispered to him, both furious and ecstatic at the same time.

"Only way I knew I'd get you to say yes and not argue with me," Tom replied before pressing his lips to hers in a fierce kiss.

Hermione knew he was right and she smiled against his mouth as he slipped a ring she still hadn't even seen on her hand and kissed her some more.

* * *

_December 1963_

_St Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries_

_London, England_

* * *

Hermione groaned as another contraction hit her huge stomach. "Never again, Tom Marvolo Riddle," she muttered under her breath, squeezing Tom's hand tightly as the medi-witch cast various diagnostic charms at her.

"There you are, Mrs Riddle. Looks like we'll be getting ready to push soon. You made it just in time," the nurse said kindly, patting Hermione's hand and leaving the room.

"This was your idea," Tom told her, glaring.

"And you went about it with such vigor," Hermione argued, panting as the contraction left her and she was able to relax again.

"Are you complaining about my technique?" Tom asked, lifting one eyebrow.

"Merlin, do you two argue about everything?" Fleamont asked as he entered their private room. "I could hear you halfway down the hallway."

"What are you doing here?" Hermione asked, tensing as another contraction started. "Merlin, Godric, and Helena!" she grunted through the pain.

"Waiting for my godson to be born, of course," Fleamont said, winking.

"Get him out, Tom!" Hermione shrieked as the contraction began to ease.

"I can tell when I'm not wanted," Fleamont pouted as he slid back out the door. "I'll just be waiting down the hall, then!"

Hermione grunted again as another contraction began to sweep over her. "Godric, this is the worst."

Several hours later, after screaming herself hoarse, Hermione lay back exhausted as Tom held their sleeping son.

"Your mum's a fucking goddess," Tom murmured quietly, brushing his finger down their son's cheek. "We owe her everything, you and I. Let's not forget it, alright?" Tom kissed their son's head and Hermione smiled at the scene.

The last fifteen years had been filled with work, it felt right that now was their time to start a family. They both worked as professors at Hogwarts after their apprenticeships ended. Hermione had ended up staying at Hogwarts almost ten years after her apprenticeships with Merrythought and Forlanini ended, she had liked teaching so much.

Tom had moved on to the Ministry after four years as the Transfiguration professor once Dippet retired and Dumbledore took over as Headmaster.

Merlin's Order was thriving and membership wasn't something they looked too hard at these days. It was better if there wasn't a parchment trail associated with the Order. The fact that it was all a bigger success as early as it had been, was enough proof that they were doing the right thing. They'd swayed a majority of the Wizengamot to retire and give up their seats to their younger relatives. Relatives that all happened to be part of the Order.

Since moving to the Ministry, Hermione had established a new department designed to reach Muggleborns and Muggle raised half-bloods earlier than Hogwarts age. The first time magic is used in a big enough way to have to send out the Obliviation squad, was when Hermione and her team made contact. She was still working on getting Dumbledore to give up the Hogwarts registry. One of the few quarrels they had within the Ministry. Dumbledore was very protective of Hogwarts and its traditions.

She even had plans to open a primary school for all wizarding children within the next few years. If she could coax Muggleborn, half-blood, and pure-blood parents to send their children to a primary school before Hogwarts, how much would that ease the prejudice she and Tom experienced? It was her newest project and she couldn't wait to get back to working on it.

* * *

_April 1964_

_Ministry of Magic_

_London, England_

* * *

"You can't be serious," Dumbledore said, giving Tom a withering stare. "Minister? Tom, you're only thirty-seven. We've _never_ had a Minister that young."

"Perhaps it's time that changed," Tom said with gritted teeth. More and more he found himself disagreeing with Dumbledore. He was chafing at the seemingly arbitrary restrictions Dumbledore wanted to place on him.

"You'll never be elected," Dumbledore said shaking his head.

"Are you planning to campaign against me, Albus?" Tom asked, leaning back in his chair.

They were in his office, Tom had been elected to the Wizengamot a decade before, as the youngest member to be elected and not assume a hereditary seat. Dumbledore had only been selected as Chief Warlock three years previously. And two years prior to that, he had been elected Supreme Mugwump of the ICW. That was three powerful positions Dumbledore held, while Tom was just a member of the Wizengamot. Why couldn't he run for Minister?

"I wouldn't go that far, Tom. I haven't the time," Dumbledore equivocated.

"Good, let's keep it that way," Tom said, he stood then, indicating that this meeting was over. "I have another appointment to keep if you'll excuse me."

Dumbledore nodded and shook Tom's hand, but Tom could feel the rising tension between the two of them. Dumbledore was going to become a problem.

* * *

_May 1964_

_Ministry of Magic_

_London, England_

* * *

"Tom," Hermione said, her voice calm, which Tom appreciated because, after his last discussion with Dumbledore, he was practically vibrating with rage.

"How dare he try to block me! He wouldn't even be where he is today without me and the Order," Tom ranted.

"You're right," Hermione said seriously. "Dumbledore is only where he is because we put him there. And if we put him there, we can remove him. It's time he just became a Headmaster of a school all the way off in Scotland, isn't it?" she suggested.

"He certainly can't have time to be devoted to three very different positions," Potter added. "Hell, the ICW claims he can't even get there for half of their meetings. They've been using an ad-hoc Supreme Mugwump since they appointed him."

"Who else would be in the running for Supreme Mugwump?" Tom asked.

"A Malfoy or a Black wouldn't go amiss there," Delacour said. They were having an impromptu emergency meeting of the hive of the Order in Tom's office at the Ministry. Delacour had a standing portkey from Paris to London that he used as needed.

"It would certainly keep the power with Britain on the international stage by getting another Briton appointed," Hermione pointed out. "But I'm afraid we don't quite have a Black or Malfoy deep enough in our pockets to appoint."

"What about Aloysius Prewett?" Potter suggested.

"My father?" Prewett asked. "He might accept."

"Schmooze him for us, will you?" Tom told Prewett. "I want Dumbledore removed for dereliction of duty before the Ministry elections in three months time."

"Consider it done," Prewett said, scribbling something on his parchment.

"What about the Wizengamot?" Hermione asked. "We need someone to replace him there too."

"But not until after the Ministry elections," Potter said. "It'll look like we're stacking the deck for Tom if we make our move on both the ICW and the Wizengamot before elections."

"Fine, after the elections, we take him out of the Wizengamot. Dereliction of duty won't work there though," Tom mused. "We'll need something else."

"A scandal at Hogwarts, perhaps?" Hermione suggested. "I can speak with Minerva, she's taken over as Transfiguration professor and not sold on Dumbledore's leadership."

"That could work, but may only remove him as Headmaster instead of Chief Warlock, and then he'll be meddling too much at the Ministry. We need to keep him at Hogwarts."

"Perhaps the plot needs to be more involved. There's a problem at Hogwarts, that only he can address, but he's stuck at the Ministry instead," Prewett suggested. "Then we force him to choose."

"Dumbledore will always choose Hogwarts," Hermione replied. "He's afraid of having too much power."

"Despite holding three very important positions," Tom scoffed. "Alright, let's do it."

* * *

_September 1964_

_Ministry of Magic_

_London, England_

* * *

"I'm so pleased to announce our next Minister for Magic: Tom Riddle!" the current Minister for Magic said into the microphone setup for the press conference. Thunderous applause broke out in the Atrium of the Ministry. Elections had been held the week before and the tally had just been announced.

Tom smiled at the cheers, waving his hand as he took his spot behind the microphone. The current Minister, slapped Tom on the back heartily, rather too heartily, since it was Tom who had unseated him.

"Friends, colleagues, thank you so much," Tom began. It felt exceedingly good to have this win. He spotted Hermione and Richard, their nine-month-old, in the front row and Tom's smile deepened. Yes, it felt very good to have come so far from his roots as a poor, half-blood orphan to being the most powerful leader in wizarding Europe.

_**~Fin~** _


End file.
